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DRAMATIC EPISODES, 



DRAMATIC 

EPISODES 



BY 

MARJORIE BENTON COOKE 

Author of *' Modern Monologues" 



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CHICAGO 

THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY 

CHARLES H. SERGEL, Prisident 
1904 



UGRARYof GONGSESS 
Two Copies fiiicoived 

DEC 30 1304 

f\ Oopyngni trary 



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Copyright, 1904, 
By MARJORIE BENTON COOKE. 






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CONTENTS. 



A Court Comedy r.-n-. . 9 

Manners and Modes .-. -s^i . . 39 

The Confessional ^. 61 

The Child in the House ..- 75 

The Lion and the Lady 85 

Success 105 

Lady Betty's Burglar -.-. .-...>. 117 

A Dinner — with Complications 133 • 

Eeform i.«... . -. • • . -153 

When Love Is Young.:. . .-.- .-.-.^ 167 



DRAMATIC EPISODES 



A COURT COMEDY. 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT. 

Characters : 

Charles II of England. 

Lady Francis Stuart, a Lady-in-Waiting. 

Nell Gwynn. 

Setting. — Ante room in the Palace, furnished in the 
period. Up stage, center, a curtained door. Up 
stage, left, a small table with decanter and 
glasses. A bell rope hangs from left corner 
of ceiling. Down, right, a heavy carved bench. 
Down, left front, a writing table strewn with 
writing materials. B. 2 E., a door. Eoom is 
lighted with candles. 

Note. — Nell Gwynn speaks with slight Irish accent. 

discovered — Lady Stuart — on couch, head in 
hand. She sighs. 

Lady S. Oh I am so weary of it all — so utterly 
weary. The jealousy — the gossip; the petty 
intrigue of the court — -Life is at its ugliest here ! 
[Tenderly.] And the Queen — our poor unloved, 
yet loving Queen, each day she wrings my heart 
dry of pity 1 The King — bah ! [Rises and goes to 
table.] Richmond — Richmond, I pray the wars 
may soon be over, and you may come and take 
me away from this place — soon — soon ! 

[Enter — the King stealthily at back — looking 
about as if in fear of pursuit. Lady S. does not 
hear nor see him.] 

King S. Pensive, ma belle Stuart? 

Lady S. [Alarmed.] Sire! [She coiirtesys, eyes 
on him.] 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

King. Not ''Sire" to those we love, my Lady 
— they call us Charles ! 

Lady S. [Coldly.] Your Majesty dotH honor 
me too much! [King laughs, goes down right, 
tosses hat on bench.] 

King. You give us a royal welcome, Stuart, 
quite a royal welcome ! One of the difficulties of 
Kings, Milady, is the impossibility of doing any- 
thing alone. We go always with a pack of 
courtiers snarling at our heels. [Saunters up 
stage, and looks off.] But this time, methinks, we 
have escaped them. Oddsfish — the temptation had 
to be great to warrant our taking that trouble. 
Well, [Comes tozuard her slowly.] t'was great 
enough. A man would do much for a word 
alone with thee. 

Lady S. [Moving away.] I thought that your 
Majesty was at the Council at this hour- 

King. Council? Gods-eye — is a man never to 
have a minute to call his own? The affairs of 
England — they bore me! Fd rather turn my at- 
tention to — affairs of the heart ! 

Lady S. England's affairs should be the af- 
fairs of your heart, Sire, and of your head too. 

King. You preach to me, too, do you? You'd 
teach me to play the part of King? Leave that to 
my ministers, fair Stuart, and you teach me — 
sweeter things! 

Lady S. [Evasively.] They do say duty's 
sweet. Sire! 

King. [Annoyed.] Sire! Sire! Will you drop 
the King and turn your attention to the man ? 

Lady S. Nay — Sire — ^that would be treason. 

10 



A COURT COMEDY. 

[Lady S. goes to table, and King sits on bench at 
right. ] 

King. I see you're bound to preach to me. 
Well, you've given me the first duty of a sov- 
ereign — what's the first duty of a subject, fair 
young judge? 

Lady S. To love England — and the King, 
Sire. 

King. [Leans tozcard her.] Ah — now we 
come to an interesting point. Are you a good 
subject, Lady Stuart? Do you love your King? 

Lady S. Why — I — I hope so, Sire. 

King. [Springs np — speaks explosively.] 
Hope so! Egad, Milady, I'll have you up for 
treason ! Protest a bit, for pity's sake, and swear 
you love your King with all your heart, you lovely 
traitor. [Imitates her.] I — faith — -she hopes she 
loves her King! Madame, must I do the protest- 
ing? Oddsfish, ril teach thee warmth! 

Lady S. You can't kindle warmth, where 
there is no fire. 

King. What mean you by that, Madame? 

Lady S. I leave that to vour Majesty's wit! 

King. [Warmly.] Then I'll build the fire, 
and blow it with my love as bellows. For by my 
troth, I love thee well, ice-maiden! [He goes 
behind table and leans over her shoulder, face 
close to hers, arms half about her. She goes 
quickly center. ] 

Lady S. [Hotly.] Sire — you would insult me — ! 

King. [Leans on table, laughing.] Faith, 
Madame, the King*s love is an insult most of my 
courtiers would brook In patience! 

Lady S. And there I differ from most of your 
11 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Majesty's court, and I say again, you insult ber 
Majesty the Queen, as well as me. [Grimly.] I 
would not rival her Grace of Cleveland, nor the 
Duchess of Portsmouth, Sire — I leave them to 
contend for your royal favors! 

King. [Angrily.] You go far! 

Lady S. [Angrily.] Then your Majesty goes 
farther ! 

King. Oddsfish, Stuart, I like your spirit ! 
Can nothing touch that heart of yours? Look — 
see — [Drops on knee.] your Sovereign on his 
knees ! [Shiart looks about in alarm, then bends 
over him.] 

Lady S. Sire — Sire — I beg of you rise. Sup- 
pose someone should see you thus! Think of me 
— -think of yourself — think of England! 

King. [Half jestingly.] Here I stay until you 
say "Charles — I love you !" 

Lady S- [Finally.] Then there you stay till the 
crack of doom — and after. [King springs up and 
faces her.] 

King. What? You refuse my favors? You 
dare to thwart me, Stuart? What do you mean 
by it — ^what's your reason? Am I old? Am I 
ugly? Ah — ^I see — ^you love some one else. Well, 
let that man beware! You don't trample on the 
King of England without consequence, Madame. 
Who is he ? Out with it. Buckhurst ? Off he goes ! 
No — Buckingham? Well, even Buckingham shall 
suffer for it! 

Lady S. [Coldly.[ Your Majesty is hasty at 
conclusions. These gentlemen are nothing to me ! 

King. Who is he, then — who is he? I shall 
not stir from this place till I've had it from you. 

12 



A COURT COMEDY. 

Ah — ha — now I remember the incident of the 
garden. So its Richmond — is it? Well, here's a 
kettle of fish ! We'll settle with him. But t'other 
day a pretty lady asked for his recall, and now 
we'll have him running back to court ! 

Lady S. [Alarmed.] Sire — I beg of you — 

King. Ah — the ice-maiden melts ! 

Lady S. [Coldly. '[ Your Majesty is quite 
wrong ! 

King. [Hotly.] Madame — the king can do 
no wrong! I'll sign the papers for Richmond's 
recall this night — 

Lady S. Sire — Sire ! [King strides to door up 
center, turns angrily.] 

King. Sire me no Sires, Madame — and let that 
man beware! [Goes out. Stuart follows him up 
stage and stands staring after him as if dazed.] 

Lady S. What have I done? Richmond — I've 
ruined us both by this! What shall I do? To 
whom can I go ? Ah — yes — the Queen — [Starts as 
if to go out, then stops.] in any other trouble, yes 
— ^but now. I cannot say to her the King has — ■ 
Oh, Richmond must not come here. If the King 
discovers we do love — there is no telling what 
he may do to humiliate us! Cleveland? Ports- 
mouth? Ah, no, I cannot. [Sudden inspiration.] 
Gwynn! Nell Gwynn — they say the player girl 
has the king upon a string. I wonder — well, I 
can but try. [Goes to table, and zvrites rapidly.] 
Nell Gwynn — ^Royal Theater, London. 

Dear Madame — 

Will you come to my apartments to-night after 
the play, on a matter of urgent business? 

Frances Stuart. 

13 



DRAMATIC EPISODES, 

[Looks at clock.'] It may be too late even now. 
[Goes up stage and pulls rope. Enter Page.] A 
note for Mistress Nell Gwynn of the Royal Thea- 
ter, at the end of the next street. A fat purse for 
you if you get her here within the hour. Haste 
now. [Page runs out. She zvatches him, then 
turns front.] That I — Frances Stuart — with royal 
blood in my veins, should have to humble myself 
to this Irish jade from the gutter! [Tenderly.] 
Ah — Richmond, forgive me — it's little enough to 
do for you — dear heart ! If she'll only use her in- 
fluence with the King! Well — she must — I'll 
make her. She must never know I'm asking a 
favor of her — I'll make her think the favor is all 
mine. [Disgust] Oh, this court of England — 
where there is danger in a glance — a handclasp 
— where true love is treason — it's penalty — dis- 
grace! [She sits on bench.] 

Voice Without. Never mind — I'll announce 
meself ! 

Lady S. What ? My micssenger so soon ? 

[Enter Neil Gwynn. She stops, looks about, 
sees Lady S. and sails down tozvard her, head in 
the air. Courtesys lozv.] 

Gwynn. Lady Frances Stuart, I suppose? I 
met your man outside the theater — this letter 
tells me, ye have business with me ! 

Lady S. [Inspecting her.] You are Nell 
Gwynn the player, are you not? [Gwynn draivs 
herself up, and inspects Stuart.] 

Gwynn. Mistress Eleanor Gwynn — at your 
service! May I ask to what I owe the honor of 
this interview? 

Lady S. [Intensely-] You see I had to get 

14 



'A COURT COMEDY. 

you here somehow — [Gzvynn's interrogatory 
glance causes her to catch herself lightly.] I — 
I've always had some idle curiosity about you, 
Mistress Gwynn. [Gzvynn looks at her indig- 
nantly, then laughs.] 

Gwynn. [Low mocking courtesy.] Proud to 
fill your ladyship's idle moments — quite fair, I'm 
sure, for I regret to say, your Ladyship's filled 
some of mine. 

Stuart. I — I've always wondered how you 
looked off the stage? 

GwYNN. [Laughs, marches front.] Well — 
what do ye think of me? 

Lady S. I'm pleasantly surprised. 

GwYNN. [Aside.] She grants me looks — I'm 
prepared for war! [To Stuart.] May I ask 
what ye ixpicted ? 

Lady S. Irish face — red hair — snub nose! 

GwYNN. [Laughs loudly.] Well, methinks. 
Milady, that I've got them all ! [Seriously.] Ah — 
I see — 'tis that I've got more of them than ye 
ixpicted. Lady Stuart, I'm generously endowed 
by Nature. I grant ye, I've none of your beauty 
that's only skin deep— my beauty is within — I've 
a fine, large capacious heart! 

Lady S. Capacious — so I've heard. Big 
enough for half the kingdom. 

GwYNN. Half the kingdom — ^well — that's big 
enough for all the men. 

Lady S. Ah, yes, the men. One hears such 
tales about you! 

GwYNN. [Takes center.] Doesn't one? Faith 
— 'tis all I can do to recognize meself by the por- 
trait Rumor paints of me! 

15 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Lady S. I suppose you know almost every- 
one at court, Mistress Gwynn? [She motions to 
chair — Gzvynn drags it center and sits.] 

Gwynn. [Nods,] Bv reputation — or the lack 
of it! 

Lady S. I hear that all the men are at your 
feet. 

GwYXN. Men — did ye say, Lady Stuart? 
There are few enough men at court. I think 
of three — Buckingham — Buckhurst — • Richmond. 
The rest are courtiers, fops and fools! 

Lady S. [Laughs satirically.] 'Tis well you 
make that speech behind his Majesty's back. 

Gwynn. Faith, Madame, I've made it often 
enough to his face! 

Lady S. And what said his Majesty to that? 

Gwynn. [Laughs, drags chair back to table.] 
Well, to be exact he said — ^"Odds — fish, my 
heart, in the kingdom of the witless — the half 
wit is a King." [Lady S. joins reluctantly in 
Gwynn^s mirth. ] 

Lady S. [Watching her closely.] They tell 
me you and the King are great — friends ! 
[Gzvynn comes center, speaking sincerely.] 

Gwynn. Then they tell you true. Milady, 
for the King has no truer friend, nor more loyal 
subject than Nell Gwynn ! [Stuart rises, crosses, 
as if in doubt.] 

Lady S. And the King loves you? [Gwynn 
shoots glance at her, hesitating whether to resent 
remark — then laughs.] 

Gwynn. So he says — more fool he. You see, 
my Lady, it's like this. Now Tm the only hon- 
est rascal in the kingdom. The rest spend all 

16 



A COURT COMEDY, 

their time play-actin'. I spend my nights play- 
actin' — but the rest of the time I'm meself — just 
plain Nell Gwynn — I go where I will, do what 
I wist — and the Divil take the hindmost! 
[Saunters up stage. ^ 

Lady S. [Anxiously. '\ You have some — in- 
fluence with the King? [Gwynn turns and looks 
at her keenly,] 

Gwynn. Ye certainly are well informed. 
[Suddenly.] Are ye in love with the King your- 
self? 

Lady S. Heaven forbid! 

Gwynn. That's what I say! Poor Charles, 
ye'd freeze him to death with one of your looks ! 
[Shrezvdly.] They do say that his Majesty has 
an eye for you, Milady, — though I'm hanged if I 
see his reasons. [Goes up stage again. Lady S. 
bursts out, agitatedly.] 

Lady S. Does the King trust you? 

Gwynn. Trust me ? Oh — as well as the next. 
I'm his chief advisor — he calls me "Lord Cham- 
berlain." But yesterday he said — "Lord Cham- 
berlain, I'm tired to death and worn out tryin' to 
please the people of England — what shall I do?*' 
And I said — "Sire — there's but one way left — 
sweep out all the women, and run this kingdom 
to suit yourself — and hang the first man that's 
not content." 

Lady S. As one of the women, you'd banish 
yourself! [Gzvynn prances front, strikes atti- 
tude.] 

Gwynn. Nay, Madame, I'm — I'm the Lord 
Chamberlain ! 

17 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Lady S. How does his Majesty brook Mis- 
tress Gwynn's other lovers? 

GwYNN. Faith, they're mine, not his. I take 
good care of them. 

Lady S. Buckingham, Pepys, Richmond — 

GwYNN. Tilly — vally — don't ask for an in- 
yentory. I never v^as good at a memory. 

Lady S. I suppose you've heard that Rich- 
mond is to be recalled and another put in his 
place in command? 

Gv\^YNN. [Aside.l Richmond again — so 
that's where the shoe pinches! 

Lady S. [Earnestly.] It must be hard for 
Richmond, whose heart and strength are all the 
King's — it must be hard for Richmond to be 
called back, to gratify some woman — so 'tis said. 

GwYNN. [Surprise.'] Woman — who? Oh 
. . . now, I see. 

Lady S. [Hotly,] Yes, a woman. Some 
traitor to England, and the King — ^bah — a reed 
in the wind ! 

GwYNN. [Laughs.] 'Tis well you make that 
speech behind his Majesty's back! [Lady S. 
comes toward her.] 

Lady S. Mistress Gwynn, why don't you use 
your influence with the King for the good of 
England? Why don't you induce his Majesty 
to re-instate Richmond, and — 

GwYNN. [Laughingly interrupts.] Faith — 
Madame, 'twas I that called him in! I dare not 
whiff round again, and send him out, or the chief 
advisor will be accused of instability. The King 
may be a reed, as you say, but the Lord Chamber- 
Iain must be a steady wind to blow him ! 
18 



A COURT COMEDY. 

Lady S. [Astonished.'\ Yon — yon had Rich- 
mond recalled? He is one of your lovers then? 

GwYNN. [Aside.] I begin to see light — the 
iceberg's jealous. Well, 'tis enough to say that 
I wanted him back for a scheme of me own! 
[Lady S. turns on Gzvynn in rage] 

Lady S. Well, Madam, I suppose you'll sell 
your favors. I wish to buy your influence with 
the King. What sum will you name to induce 
him to reinstate the Duke of Richmond? Name 
your price — I'll pay you well ! [ Gwynn starts 
toward her as if to strike her — stops center, both 
women angrily facing each other.] 

GwYNN. [Bursts out.] Oh — ^you fool — you 
great fool — you hussy! Buy me? [Laughs 
harshly.] Buy my influence with the King? 
Well, I may have been born in the gutter, but by 
my faith, I'll never stoop so low as this, great 
Lady. Buy me ? Well — what do ye offer ? 

Lady S. You will ? Oh — a hundred pounds ! 

Gwynn. Nay. 

Lady S. Double it! 

G'WYNN. Higher. 

Lady S. Double that! 

GwYNN. Ah^ — 'you do pay well, but not well 
enough. Triple it, and then triple that, and 
when you've done, I'll throw your money in your 
'face and show you you can't buy Nell Gwynn for 
love nor money! [Marches up stage toward 
door. Stuart follows agitated.] 

Lady S. Wait — ^wait, you must hear me. Oh, 
is there no way to get you to help me ? 

19 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

GwYNN. If there is, I don't happen to think 
of it just now. 

Lady S. Mistress Gwynn, have you no heart? 

GwYNN. Heart? Plenty and to spare — but it 
doesn't open to threats — nor pounds. Go to the 
King yourself, if you're so anxious for your Rich- 
mond. 

Lady S. Oh, I dare not — I dare not. 

Gwynn. He doesn't bite. Go buy his favors, 
if you can't buy mine ! [Starts to go again, but 
Stuart intercepts het'.] 

Lady S. ^Mistress Gwynn, I've made a mis- 
take about you — I'm sorry. But I'm in great 
trouble, and I don't know where to turn — nor 
what to do! 

G'WYNN. Trouble? Well — why didn't ye say 
that in the first place ? Out with it. 

Lady S. Can I trust you? 

Gwynn. Probably not — I'm a woman. But 
I've a head on me shoulders, which is more than 
most of ye at court can say- It's about the Duke 
of Richmond, I take it. 

Lady S. Yes — it's^ — oh, how can I tell you? 
The King has — has — 

Gwynn. [Quickly.] Made love to ye, well? 

Lady S. I tried to escape — I tried to avoid him 
— ^but tonight — ^lie found me here alone and he — 

Gwynn. Made love to ye — ye needn't shy at 
the word! And then? 

Lady S. Then he got down on his knees — 

Gwynn. On his knees — Charles — ? Well? 

Lady S. He said — he'd stay there until I said 
I loved him. 

20 



'A COURT COMEDY. 

GwYNN". I see — so you said it quick to get 
him up! 

Lady S. Madame! I said **Then there you 
stay till the crack of doom, and after !" 

GvvYNN". You said that to Charles II, King of 
England? You said that? Lady Stuart, I've 
done ye great injustice. You're a woman after 
my own heart. Why, I like you better every 
moment I see you — well — what then? 

Lady S. His Majesty was very angry and in- 
sisted I must love another — so he put me through 
the list. Then he remembered seeing me in the 
Gardens with the Duke of Richmond — and de- 
cided he was the man. He hurried off to sign 
papers for his immediate recall. 

Gwynn. I see, and you don't want him re- 
called — ^because — •? 

Lady S. Because, Mistress Gwynn — I love 
him I 

Gwynn. Now, why didn't you say that at 
first, and spare us both, instead of trying to buy 
me up? 

Lady S. Because I thought you — ^}'ou were — 

Gwynn. You thought I was a fiend instead of 
— a woman. Well, never mind that now. Rich- 
mond back at court — the King discovers you love, 
and there's the Devil to pay. [Stands by bench 
considering a moment.'] Well, I don't see anv- 
thing for it, but for Nelly to have it out with the 
King! 

Lady S. Oh, you will ? You think you could ? 

Gwynn. Think? Nay, Madame, I know — 
I am the Lord Chamberlain! [Goes front left, 

21 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Stuart front right.] I'll do my best for you, 
but— 

Voice without. Await me here — -gentlemen 
— I'll see her alone. 

Lady S. [Alarmed-] The King! 

GwYNN. [Laughs.] The Divil! [King ap- 
pears at back. Stands looking from one to an- 
other in surprise.] 

King. [Testily.] How now, ladies? What's 
this I hear? 

GwYNN. Oh, you did hear it, did you. Sire? 
Lady Stuart said — the King — and I said — the 
Divil — ^but they're one and the same thing, your 
Majesty ! 

King. You're here, are you, Nell ? I went to 
the theater after you ; they said you'd gone home, 
and I've been looking for you ever since. 

GwYNN. [Slyly.] And 'twas your loving 
heart led you to me at last, eh, Sire? For one 
awful mornent, I thought 'twas Lady Stuart vou 
were seeking. [King comes front facing 
Stmrf.] 

King. Lady Stuart — I did not know that you 
and the Gwynn had met. [Gzvynn watches Stuart 
anxionslv for reply,] 

Lady S. We are but lately — friends, Sire. 

GwYNN. Thanks. We're just getting ac- 
quainted. [King sits at center, motioning them 
to do Ukezvise. Stnart sits on bench, Gwynn leans 
on table.] 

King. Nell, what are vou up to, eh? 

Gwynn. [Laughs.] When the King's away 
— the cats will play, you know. Sire. [Sails up 



A COURT COMEDY, 

stage.] We were just singing your Majesty's 
praises. 

King. I'd hate to leave my praises to Lady 
Stuart. Methinks they'd remain unsung! 

GwYNN. Well, Sire, she made up in warmth, 
what she lacked in eloquence! [She leans over 
Stuart, whispering.'] Leave me alone with him. 
[She goes up stage again. King and S, sit in 
stony silence. Gwynn laughs in pantomime, then 
bursts out.] Tilly — ^vally — you two are hilarious! 
[She seises Kin^s hat, which hangs on his chair, 
inarches front imitating King, strikes attitude in 
front of him, saying] "How now, ladies, what's 
this I hear?" [King scowls, smiles, laughs, rises,] 

King. [Sternly.] Give me the hat, Nell. 

Gwynn. [Laughs.] Nay, Sire. [King goes 
up stage, S. rises. Gwynn fakes in situation.] 
Let's all sit down. No ? Well, let's all stand up. 
[Waves hand to Stuart. Loud aside.] Leave me 
alone with him. 

Lady S- How shall I get away? 

Gwynn. Use your wits! [Starts toward 
Stuart with exclamation.] My Lady, what is it? 
You're pale — ^you're ill! [Supports her to bench.] 
She's fainted, poor soul! [To, S,] Faint — will 
ye? [King rushes forward.] 

King. What's this? Fainted? 

Gwynn. Yes, fainted. Do something, man — 
quick. [To S.] It's all right — ^keep it up. [King 
distractedly looking about.] 

King. But what, Nell — ^water on her? 

Gwynn. No, wine in her. [To S.] Can't 
you turn pale? 

23 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

King. Where, Nell — where? 

GwYNN. Look under the chairs, Charles. Ye 
might try the table! [He pours out wine, and 
rushes to thenu] There, take a little of this — 
that's better — now she's coming to. [Returns 
glass to King, who gees up stage with it.] Come 
to, a bit, will ye? Trust me, now — ask his 
Majesty to excuse ye. [Both rise^ Gwynn sup- 
porting Stuart.] 

Lady S. [Weakly.] If your Majesty will 
permit me to retire? 

King. With great reluctance, Madame. 

Lady S. [Stuart and Gwynn both courtesy, S. 
backing to door at R.] Sire! 

King. Madame! [At door, Stuart hesitates.] 

Gwynn. Trust me — wait until I call you. 
[Loud.] Good night. Lady Stuart. [Gwynn 
waits, facing audience, biting her lip, in doubt as 
to her next step. All through scene that follows, 
she must make the audience feel that she is slowly 
feeling her way toward her purpose — to get the 
recall away from the King, King walks slowly 
front, arms folded and zvatches her.] 

King. [Sternly.] Nell, what are you here 
for? 

Gwynn. [Folds arms, facing him.] Sire, 
what are you here for? 

King. [Advancing.] I'm here for — ^>'0u! 

Gwynn. That flattering tongue of yours will 
be the death of you yet. Sire. 

King. You're up to some mischief — what is it 
now, Minx? 

Gwynn. Curiosity, thy name is Charles 

24 



A COURT COMEDY, 

Stuart. [Laughs and runs past him doivn left,] 
Well, if you must know — I'm to play the part of 
cold court beauty in my next comedy, and [Low 
courtesy.] I've come to headquarters to learn it. 
[King sits on bench, smiling at her,] 

King. They'll have to give you a good many 
lessons, Nelly, to make a courtier out of you. 
What have you learned tonight? 

GwYNN. You think I can't do it? Well— now 
watch me! [Takes off hat, and sails up stage.] 
Enter Lady— Lady— Polly winkle ! [She szvceps 
down stage, making magnificent courtesy at cen- 
ter^] Your Majesty's most humble servant! 
[King bends smiling tozvard her. She turns on 
him.] Well, get up, Sire, and act as if I were 
somebody! [He jumps to feet, bozvs lozv.] 

King. Milady, you dazzle us with your 
beauty ! 

GwYNN. Don't I? [Lozvbozv] Your Majesty 
is most gracious! 

King. Methinks I saw thee, Lady Pretty- 
wrinkle — 

GwYNN. [Sternly.] Pollywinkle! 

King. Ah, yes, Pollywinkle, at the play to- 
night ? 

GwYNN. Aye. I trust your Majesty was not 
so bored as I. 'Tis a very dull thing to sit 
through so dull a play, and that odious Gwynn — 
how she did smirk and wriggle. I was so bored ! 
[King turns aside to hide smiles.] 

King. Bored ? I was enchanted. The Gwynn 
was at her best — such wit — such dariTi!;^-! [Gzvynn 

25 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

claps hands behind him, then regains haughty 
manner. ^ 

GwYNN. I hear this paragon was a shoe- 
maker's daughter! [King sits on bench.] 

King. [Stcrjily.] Not a word, Madame, 
against the Gwynn in my presence! [Gzvynn 
kneels before him in pretended alarm.] 

GwYNN". I have the misfortune to have in- 
curred your majesty's disfavor. I crave forgive- 
ness ! [Puts elbow on knee, chin in hand, laughs 
up at him.] Well, why don't you say something 
— I can't do all the talking ! 

King. Nell — I love you! 

GvvYNN. Of course, you do. I don't blame 
you — oh — now that's Nell Gwynn. I'm out of 
character. I mean — [Stiifly] — Sire, you over- 
whelm me with — with — 

King — Embarrassment ? 

GwYNN. Not a bit of it. With in^ — indebti- 
tude ? [Both roar. King takes her hands draw- 
ing her to him.] 

King. Ah, Nelly, you're a merry witch! 
Don't pick up the court tricks, child. I like your 
own better ! 

Gwynn. My own ? I have no tricks, Sire ! 

King. Ah, you're full of them. [She rises, 
bending over him.] 

Gwynn. Now, the frown has all gone, and we 
can amuse ourselves. [Looks about.] What do 
you say, Charles, to a drop of Milady's sherry? 
[Runs to table, Ulls glasses and takes center.] 
One for you, and one for me, and I give you — 
My King! 

26 



A COURT COMEDY. 

King. [Joins her at center.'] Here's to the 
merriest, maddest witch in the kingdom — Nell 
Gwynn! [She takes glasses and goes to table. 
He crosses down left to writing table. Nell 
watches him, dubiously, then seizes stool, and runs 
down beside him.] 

Gwynn. Sire, I haven't seen you for twelve 
whole hours — what's the news with the kingdom 
— eh ? Is the council waiting for you outside the 
door? [Kneels on stool, arm about Mm.] Ah, 
now there^s the frown again. Must I do all my 
hard work over ? 

King. Was I frowning, Nelly? [Slips down 
on stool, his arm about her^ her head against him..] 

Gwynn. Sour as a lemon. What's the mat- 
ter — has the Council been troubling you ? 

King. Not as much as I've troubled it, dear 
heart. 

Gwynn. Then it must be money. I'll lend 
ye a bit. [Offers purse, which King weighs 
laughingly. She snatches it.] I know — Rochester 
has a new rhyme at your Majesty's expense ! 

King. [Sternly.] I'll have his head if he has ! 

Gwynn. He'll have the better of you yet. Sire. 

King. How so? 

Gwynn. He'll be out — ahead! [Both laugh, 
'Nell's head on King's shoidder.] Hark you — 
I've improved on Rochester myself — Charles. 
[She puts stool up stage, kneels beside him, like 
effigy on tomb.] 



27 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Here lies our sovereign, stiff and stark, 
Whose amorous course is now run. 

He never loved a witless maid — 
Nor got loved — by a wise one ! 

[King laughs loudly, draws her to him — say- 
ing] 

King. Oddsfish, Madame, I'll have your 
head! 

GwYNN. All right, Sire — where'll you have 
it? [Puts head on his breast.] 

King. Ah, Nelly — Nelly — would there were 
more in the kingdom like you, lass. In your voice 
there is eternal sunshine. With you there is rest 
— and forgetfulness, dear heart. [Gwynn slides 
to Hoor at his feet, looking up at him,] 

Gwynn. [5/^/z^.] Ah, Sire, 'tis a pity you 
don't concentrate your love — then you'd get more 
rest — and you wouldn't need forgetfulness ! 

King. Well, I may love too often, but not too 
well, Nell. For I always come back to you^ — • 
lass — [Gwynn springs up, and takes center.] 

Gwynn. [Indignantly.] So I'm your last re- 
sort, am I? 

King. [Goes to her.] Oh, I didn't mean that, 
Nell— 

Gwynn. You'll never make up to me for that 
speech, Charles. 

King. Come — come — what will you have? 
Must I go down on my royal knees? 

Gwynn. Faith — 'twould surprise them. You 
must pay for forgiveness — I've a favor, Sire. 
28 



'A COURT COMEDY. 

[She zvatches 'him keenly. He goes to bench — she 
crosses left.] 

King. You — a favor? 'Tis granted. 

GwYNN. [foyftiUy.] Promise me before I 
ask it? 

King. I promise. [She runs to him.] 

GwYNN. Well, then — don't recall the Duke of 
Richmond. 

King. [Starts.] How now, Nell? 

GwYNN. Now, don't jump round like that — 
and don't use the royal manner on me, for it's 
wasted. 

King. Is all my court in love with Richmond ? 
But ten days ago you asked for his recall. 

GwYNN. But then I didn't know all. 

King. All what? 

GwYNN. Swear by your crown you won't 
breathe a word I'm going to say, to a soul — ^nor 
speak to anyone about it. 

King. I'll make no rash promises. 

GwYNN. Very well, then — you won't hear it. 

King. Nell, I command thee! 

GwYNN. Command? Pht! What's that? 
[King frowns, smiles, drops back resigned.] 

King. Well, I promise. [Gwynn runs to sit 
on arm of bench, arm about him.] 

GwYNN. Now, that's my nice little King! 
Well, in the first place I wanted the Duke of 
Richmond back for reasons — which I refuse to 
divulge — [King looks at her.] — ^but I wasn't in 
love with him — ^truly I was not. Then I heard 
that this Lady Stuart — whom I hate — ^hate — hate, 
and your Majesty knows why — • 

29 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

King. Lady Stuart — what about her? 

GvvYNN. She wants him back, too — to pay 
up a grudge she owes him. She has no use for 
the man, you know. Sire. I came here and de- 
manded an explanation. She said she wanted 
him back, but she didn't dare ask your Majesty 
for his recall — so she got it by a ruse — 

King. [Angrily.] A ruse? 

GwYNN. She said she'd have him back in no 
time, and I said — ''Oh, I don't know" — and she 
said "Mistress Gwynn — the thing is done." "Very 
well, then," said I, "we'll undo it." [King starts 
up on stage as if to go.] 

King. [Angrily.'] Where is she, Nell ? Where 
is this woman ? [She runs to him, seices arm, and 
leads him back to couch.] 

Gwynn. Now, calm yourself. Sire, and sit 
down there. And remember you gave me your 
word you wouldn't speak to a soul but me about 
it. What's more, will you kindly choose, between 
that cold-blooded iceberg, and myself — she says 
Richmond comes home, I say he stays — ^now 
choose! [King rises and crosses in fozvering 
rage.] 

King. Choose? I'll have you understand, 
Madame, that I'll not be pulled hither and thither 
by the women of my court like a puppet in a 
Punch and Judy show ! Nor you, nor Stuart, nor 
any other shall dictate to me. I'll pay her for this 
trick, and as for you^ — [Nell clcips hands laugh- 
ing.] 

Gwynn. Look at the royal temper! 

30 



'A COURT COMEDY. 

King, As for you — I'll banish you both! 
[Laughter frozen on Gwynn's face.] 

GwYNN. Banish! That word — from you to 
me! Ah — [Goes slowly up stage, gets hat and 
starts to go, then runs down behind him.] Ah, 
Sire — banish me from the kingdom, before you 
banish me from you heart! [Goes slowly tip 
stage to door. King turns, holds out arms.] 

King. [In spite of himself.] Nell — Nell — 

GwYNN. [Joyously.] Sire! 

King. Come back — dear love — [She runs to 
him, and drops on knees before him. He kisses 
her hair.] I've chosen. See — here's the recall! 
[Takes paper from bosom and gives it to her. 
She kisses his hand passionately.] 

GwYNN. Ah, Sire — thanks — thanks! 

King. But let me off from my promise, Nell. 
I must send the Stuart from court — she's tricked 
me — she's tricked me! [He goes up stage, she 
crosses next, hugging paper.] 

GwYNN. It's a good idea, Charles — send her 
away — ^but don't tell her why. Now, Charles, 
you may have your faults, but you never lied to 
me, and you gave me your word. 

King. [Holds out hands to her.] Nell, I 
think you're the only woman in the kingdom who 
can say I never lied to her! 

GwYNN. [Laughs,] Lyin's a habit, dear, 
like lovin', and we've got the habit. Hark — did 
you hear the hour ? 

King. Yes, it's late — come along, FU see you 
home. 

'GwYNN. No — I'll stay and see Lady Stuart. 

31 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

I want to tell her that I used a ruse, too, and the 
last ruse is the best — eh, Sire? 

King. [Sifs on table.] Very well, then, I'll 
wait. 

GwYNN. No, you must not. Think of your 
ireputation. 

King. My what? 

GwYNN. Reputation — did you never hear that 
word? 

King. Well, we don't use it much at court. 

GwYNN. Assume a virtue if you have it not — 
and away with you. 

King. Ah, Nell, let me stay. 

GwYNN. [At center.] Charles IL, King of 
England — as Lord Chamberlain of this realm, I 
command thee to depart I 

King. [Sei:^es her hand, bows lozv over if.] 
Thy word is England's law. Milord. 

GwYNN. Goodnight — my King! [He goes to, 
door, she rims after throwing kiss.] Oh, wait — 
wait — Sire — I have a better idea — come back. 
[Drags hint front.] Ye shall banish the Stuart 
this very night. 

King.' What's this? 

GwYNN. Yes. I'll call her in, and you can 
do the thing that's to be done. 

King. But w-hat excuse shall I offer — ^unless 
I say I know she's tricked me? 

Gwynn. Don't offer any excuse — ^tell her — 
you're going to give her — a vacation. [Puts hand 
on his shoulder, leads hint front, watching him.] 
Charles, did you ever make love to her? 

32 



A COURT COMEDY. 

King. Love — Oh, well, now and then per- 
haps. 

GwYNN. Did she take to it? 

King. [Shrewdly.] Nell — what do you know ? 
[She pats hands on his two shoidders.] 

GwYNN. I know — ^you — Sire! Did she? 

King. She's a cold woman, Nell — 

GwYNN. Then there ye have it. Tell her 
she's banished for snubbin' the King. 

King. Before you? She'll think you're 
jealous. 

GwYNN. [Hesitates.] N — o — not before me. 
I tell you, I'll hide, then when you've gone I'll 
come out and bid her a fond farewell. 

King. No, no, that won't do at all. 

GwYNN. [Runs toward door.] Yes, it will 
do. [Calls.] Lady Stuart — Lady Stuart! 

King. [Trying to stop her.] Nell— Nell— I 
forbid you — 

GwYNN. Out of my way, Charles, I'll hide — • 
up here. [Runs behind curtain at hack.] 

King. [Aghast.] Damme — the impudence! 
[Enter Lady S. hastily.] 

Lady S. Yes, Mistress Gwynn — has he gone? 
Oh — ^your Majesty — I thought 'twas Mistress 
Gwynn's voice. 

King. [Coldly.] So 'twas. 

Lady S. But she has gone? 

King. Well, we remain. Lady Stuart. We 
find our cold English climate so blighting to a 
warm nature like your own, that we would sug- 
gest that an indefinite stay in southern France 
might bring about a thaw. 

33 



DRAMATIC EPISODES, 

Lady S. You mean I may go? Thanks — 
thanks. [Drops on knees.] 

King. [Coldly.] We contemplate a colony 
abroad for those loyal souls, who like yourself find 
the King's love an insult — and banishment the 
highest joy! 

Lady S. Loyalty spells different things to you 
and me, Sire. I carry out your Majesty's com- 
mands tomorrow without regret, save that I 
would I might have said farewell to Mistress 
Gwynn. 

King. [Smiles sardonically.] We'll grant 
your last request. [He pulls curtain ^ disclosing 
Gwynn, fingers in ears.] 

Gwynn. I haven't heard a word. Did you 
do it? [Sees Lady S. comes front in surprise, 
looking from one to other.] Why, what's the 
matter ? 

King. Two can play at tricks, Nell. 

Gwynn. [Laughs.] Ah — Sire — ^you — 

Lady S. [Still, in the dark.] Mistress Gwynn? 

Gwynn. Aye 'tis meself. His Majesty 
wouldn't have me present at your interview, so 
I stepped into the ante-room. [Gets recall from 
breast, and hands it to her, unseen by King.] 
Here's the recall — I got it from him by lyin' and 
blarney. [Lady S. clasps it and the hand, too.] 

Lady S. [Spontaneously.] How good you 
are! 

Gwynn. Faith — 'taint often I blush at that 
■word. No. 'tis all in my day's work. Last night 
one role, tomorrow another, and tonight — well, I 

34 



A COURT COMEDY. 

grant you I haven't played so bad, for I've played 
for happiness, and I've played for — Love ! {Puts 
out hand to King, who raises it to lips,] 

King. And you haven't played in vain — 
Witch — woman ! 

CURTAIN. 



85 



MANNERS AND MODES 



MANNERS AND MODES. 



A SATIRE. 



Oertie Gay ^ 

....a saleslady of Makemuch Co. Millinery Dept. 
Mary Mocker 

a saleslady of Makemuch Co. Millinery Dept. 

Miss Ann Thrope who needs no label 

Miss Waver a typical shopper 

Miss Aider .- her friend 

Mrs. Eminence Blount a modern mother 

Francesca Blount the latest thing in daughters 

Miss Optimist - a humorist unafraid 

Mrs. Daniel Cheery. an old fashioned lady 

Setting — a millinery shop. At back tables "with hata 
set up on standards. At left a cabinet containing hats- 
At light down front a big mirror with chair in front of 
it. Hand glass hangs at side of mirror. Exits right 
and left down front. 

Costumes — Gertie Gay and Mary Mocker, black skirta 
and jerseys. Gertie has long train, fussy lace jabot at 
neck, Tery exaggerated pompadour — ^wears jewelry— in 
short a Tery dressy person. Mary wears short skirt, 
cuffs, and turn over collar. Miss Waver and Miss Aider 
*' dressy^' shoppers. Miss Ann Thrope very severe 
tailor made gown, and hat. Mrs. Blount very handsome- 
ly dressed but more like a girl of twenty than a mother 
of a half grown child. Francesca, a stylish little girl. 
Misa Optimist, a tailor suit. Mrs. Cheery, any old thing 
provided it is old fashioned. 

Scene — Millinery Shop. Time, morning. Dis- 
covered — Mary Mocker at hack putting out 
the stock, brushing hats, etc. Gertie Gay lounges 

39 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

'down front on chair, and as curtain gets zveU up, 
yazcns and stretches. 

Gertie. Lawzee, I'm tired this morning! 

Mary. This morning? As far as I can see 
you're tired every morning. 

Gertie. [Chezving gmn zngorously.] Well, 
if you went out into society as much as I do, I 
guess you'd be tired too. 

Mary. [Graz/ely.] I guess going as much as 
you do wouldn't tire me out ! 

Gertie. [Abused tone.] Well, it's awful 
hard work bein' a society girl an' gettin' down 
to work every mornin'. Of course I don't have 
to do it, if I don't want to — I don't have to 
work — 

Mary. O, no — ^>'ou can starve, if you'd rather ? 
Did you ever see the woman yet that had to work ? 
They all do it just to pass away the time. I'm 
thinkin' of hirin' out to a museum as the only 
livin' woman that has to work and ain't ashamed 
of it. 

Gertie. [Superior.] Well, I just do it for a 
pastime. I like to make my own spendin' money ! 

Mary. I guess if you didn't make it you 
wouldn't have it. 

Gertie. [Haughtily.] That's all you know 
about it, Miss Mocker. Why, I can get married 
any day I want to. 

Mary. . [Smiles derisively.] You don't say? 

Gertie. Think I haven't got the chances? 
Well, there are just four men in this town to- 
day that I could marry if I wanted to. 

Mary. O, I don't blame you for stayin' single 

40 



MANNERS AND MODES, 

— it's lots easier to support yourself than it is to 
support yourself — and a man! 

Gertie. [Looks back at her.] You mean cat! 
[She yawns and stretches. Mary turns on her.] 

Mary. Lie down, do, and take a nap — Mrs. 
Potter Palmer — while the rest of us get out the 
stock! 

Gertie. [Crossly, picking up hat brush.] Oh, 
you needn't worry. I do as much as you do. 

Mary. Yes, thanks to the floorwalker. [Mock 
solemnity.] But then with all your social duties — 
I suppose you really do more than I do I 

Gertie. [Swallozvs the bait.] That's right — 
I do. Say — [Leans across the table toivard Mary] 
— say — I never got in till i o'clock last night 1 

Mary. [Shakes brush at her.] Oh — naughty! 
Went to the horse show — I suppose. I didn't see 
your name in the list of box holders! 

Gertie. Horse show — I guess not. I had a 
date with Charlie! 

Mary. Guess you didn't go to the horse show 
then, on Charlie's eight dollars a week. I should 
think you'd be ashamed to go out with that man 
— I'd feel as if I was takin' the food out of his 
mouth ! 

Gertie. Well, that's his business ! I tell you 
we had a time! 

Mary. Ten — twenty — -thirt — I suppose. 

Gertie. Well, you've got another suppose 
acomin' ! We went to this here Mrs. Pat Camp- 
bell (pronounced Camp-bell) down to the Grand. 
She's homely as a hedgehog — ^but you ought to 
seen the clothes she had on. And you know the 

41 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

feller that was in love with her reminded me a 
lot of that Mr. Cohn, the floorwalker down- 
stairs. 

Mary. Get to work — ^here comes Smithy. He 
can tell a mile off whether you're a workin' or 
loafin'! [Both very busy while he passes.] 

Gertie. Old sneak — I wish we had a good 
lookin' young floorwalker up here, that would 
make some allowances for the girls. 

Mary. You idiot! You don't suppose this 
store is agoin' to hire floorwalkers that make al- 
lowances, do you? We're just a lot of machines, 
hired cheap for the store to get work out of, and 
it'll get it, too. 

Gertie. Well, some of the floorwalkers ain't so 
hard on the girls. You know Sadie was tellin' me 
that she heard they was goin' to make a rule that 
salesladies couldn't chew gum durin' workin' 
hours. I tell you what with wearin' black clothes 
'n givin' up gum we ain't got no rights left. 

Mary. Rights! [Laughs.] That's good — 
machines don't have rights. 

Gertie. Well, I ain't no machine, and nobody 
can't make me one, neither. I'll chew gum all I 
want to, an' I'd like to see 'em try to stop me. 
You can always put it under your tongue when 
the floorwalker's talkin' to you. 

Mary. That's right, Gertie — keep up the 
bluff. But you're a machine, like I am — an' all 
the rest of the two thousand people in this store. 
If we're old or sick we get turned off, with a 
hundred others to take our place. Oh, no, we 

42 



MANNERS AND MODES. 

ain't machines! [Voice zvithoiit calls — ''Forzvard 
— forward."] 

Gertie. You take these two, an' I'll take the 
next. I guess these are just rubbernecks, any- 
way. [Enter Miss Waver and Miss Aider, zvha 
stroll about examining hats. Mary goes to them.] 

Mary. Something in hats, madame? 

Miss Waver. Um — yes. 

Mary. Walking hat, or dress hat? 

Miss Waver. Um— I don't know. Show me 
what you have. 

Mary. About what price hat? 

Miss Waver. Um — I don't know. Just show 
me everything. 

Mary. Will you sit here? [They sit down 
before glass. Mary goes up stage for hats. Miss 
Waver takes off her hat.] 

Miss Waver. Just look at my hair, will you — 
isn't it a sight ? [Mary returns with several hats.] 

Mary. Here's a nice little hat — sort of half 
way hat, you see. You can use it for shopping or 
it goes well with a reception dress. [5*/^^ puts 
it on Miss W., zvho turns from side to side many 
times.] 

Miss Waver. I don't care much for that shade 
of velvet, do you, Mabel? 

Miss Aider. Oh, I don't know — it isn't so 
bad. 

Miss Waver. I don't think It's very becom- 
ing to me. 

Mary. Don't you — well, how do you like this ? 
[She puts plain hat on her.] That's a natty thing. 

Miss Waver. Oh no, that won't do at all. I 

43 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

don't look well in such a severe hat. I have to 
have something sort of dressy, you know. [Mary 
puts feathered hat on her.] There — ^that's better. 
Of course I don't wear my hair this way usually, 
so you can't tell much about it. [Looks at herself 
lofig.] I rather like that, don't you, Mabel? 

Miss Aider. Yes, I do — it's very becoming 
to you. 

Miss Waver. It's a little too high on this 
side, don't you think so? 

Mary. Too high ? Well, that could be altered, 
you know. [Presses trimming down on side.] 
Here — like that. 

Miss Waver. Yes, that's much better. 

Mary. It's very stylish and becoming to you. 

Miss Waver. [Anxiously.] Do you think so 
really? It's so hard to get a hat that's becoming 
to me. You like this one, don't you, Mabel ? 

Miss Aider. Why, yes — but I thought you 
wanted a hat that would do for the street — ^I 
think that's a little loud for shopping, don't you? 

Mary. [Promptly.] These are all the style 
for street wear. 

Miss Waver. What's that over there ? [Points 
to hat on standard.] 

Mary. This one? [Brings if to her.] Well, 
that's more elaborate than the one you have on. 

Miss Waver. Well, just put it on and see how 
I look in it. [Mary puts it on her.] Oh, that's 
lovely, isn't it, Mabel? Don't you like this? 

Miss Aider. Yes, it's stunning. 

Miss Waver. Oh, I like this so much. Now, 

44 



MANNERS AND MODES, 

haven't you got something Hke that, only not so 
elaborate ? 

Mary. [5"z^/i.y.] I'm afraid not, but I'll ask 
the head woman. [She goes off.} 

Miss Wavier. These clerks are so stupid! 
They never have any idea what to show you — and 
you simply can't make them understand what you 
want. The idea of her showing me this — ! [Mary 
returns.] 

Mary. I'm sorry, but we haven't anything 
of that order. We could make you a hat like this 
in darker shades, if you like. 

Miss Waver. How long would it take ? 

Mary. About a week. 

Miss Waver. What do you think, Mabel — 
would you do it? [To Mary.] Do you think 
the hat is becoming to me? 

Mary. You never had a more becoming hat 
on your head. 

Miss Waver. Well, what colors would you 
suggest having it made in? 

Mary. How would it be in brown with a 
touch of red ? 

Miss Waver. Oh, no — I never wear brown. 

Mary. How would you like it in gray and 
black — ^that's very stylish this season. 

Miss Waver. Is it? What do you think, 
Mabel, do vou suppose I'd like it in gray and 
black? 

Miss Aider. Why yes — ^I should think you 
might. 

Miss Waver. Well, let me see the materials, 
if you please. [Mary goes out] I wonder if 

45 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

I'll be satisfied with the thing. Do you think I 
will ? [Mary returns with materials.] 

Mary. Now, the hat would be black and the 
chou gray. 

Miss Waver. Why not have the chou black 
and the hat gray? 

Mary. Well, you could have it that way if 
you like. 

Miss Waver. Oh, well, I guess I'd rather 
have it the other way. And I could have it in a 
week? How much would it be? 

Mary. Fifteen dollars. 

Miss Waver. Fifteen dollars!! My good- 
ness — I'd never pay that for it in the world ! 

Mary. It's a very good piece of velvet, you 
see — 

Miss Waver. But fifteen dollars — I don't like 
the hat much anyway — 'it's too small. 

Mary. And you think you wouldn't like any 
of these others? 

Miss Waver. [Casts supercilious glance about 
shop, then reaches for her own hat.] No — I don't 
like your hats much anyway. I never buy my 
hats here — I always go to Field's. [Rises.] Come 
on, Mabel, let's go over to Field's — it's the only 
place in town to shop. [They go out.] 

Mary. [Grimly.] Come in again. [She he- 
gins to put away hats. Gertie laughs.] 

Gertie. Wouldn't that jar you ? I knew they 
were rubbers when they came in. 

Mary. What's the difference whether you 
know it or not — you have to show them the stock 
just the same. 

46 



MANNERS AND MODES. 

Gertie:. Well, you needn't be so cross about 
it. Wait till youVe had the whole stock out three 
times a day and not sold a cent's worth — that's 
my record for yesterday. O Law — here's my 
turn. I know this brand though — watch me sell 
her something. [Enter Miss Ann Thorpe with 
business-like stride.] 

Miss A. T. Good morning — I want to look at 
a hat, please. 

Gertie. Trimmed or untrimmed. 

Miss A. T. Ready to wear. 

Gertie. Dress hat or street? 

Miss A. T. Both. 

Gertie. Oh, you want to look at both ? 

Miss A. T. No, I want one hat that will do 
for both. [ Gertie smWs and goes for hats. Miss 
A, T. takes oif her hat, smoothes her hair Hat. 
Gertie comes hack with collection. She starts 
to put one on, and Miss A. T. takes it from her.] 

Miss A. T. I'll put them on myself, please ; I 
don't like anyone to touch my head. No — that 
won't do — look how it sets up on my h'ead. 

Gertie. Well, most everybody wears a pom- 
padour now, you know. 

Miss A. T. Well, I don't— so I'd like a hat 
to fit my head. 

Gertie. Try this one. [Miss. A. T. claps 
if on.] That's wrong side before. 

Miss A. T. [Simpfy.] Oh, is it ? [Puts it on 
right.] It feels much better wrong side than 
right. 

Gertie. [Indifferently.] It looks just lovely; 
on you. 

47 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Miss A. T. I don't care how it looks. I want 
it to fed all right. 

Gertie. Here's a swell little hat — quite dressy, 
too. 

Miss a. T. Then I don't want it — I want a 
plain hat. [Gertie gets another.] 

Gertie. How's this? 

Miss A. T. No— I don't like that— it's too 
young. 

Gertie. Too young — Oh, do you think so? 

Miss A. T. Haven't you something else ? I'm 
in a great hurry. 

Gertie. No, I don't think we have anything 
that would suit vou. 

Miss A. T. '[Points.] What's that? 

Gertie. Oh, you wouldn't like that, I'm sure. 

Miss A. T. Suppose you let me decide ! [Gertie 
gets hat and pokes it at her. She puts it on.] 

Gertie. You've got it on sideways. 

Miss A. T. I like it sideways. How much 
is it? 

Gertie. Ten dollars. 

Miss A. T. I'll take it. [Gets pocketbook 
from bag.] 

Gertie. Where shall I send it? 

Miss A. T. I'll wear it! 

Gertie. Shall I send the old one? 

Miss A. T. No— I'm through with that. [She 
puts nezv hat on, and rises.] Much obliged to you 
— good morning. [Hastens out. Gertie gathers 
up hats.] 

Mary. I thought for a minute you'd lost her. 

Gertie. Well, I didn't care if I did. Ever 

48 



MANNERS AND MODES. 

see such a crank? Will you look at this thing? 
[Tzuirls Miss A. T/s cast-off hat on her finger.] 
That must have seen better days. [Voice outside 
— ''Forzvard — fonvardJ' ] 

Mary. Mrs. Eminence Blount and daughter. 
She owns a school up here somewhere, where they 
teach children how not to behave. Watch this 
if you're looking for fun. [Enter Mrs. Blount 
and Francesco.] 

Mrs. Blount. Good morning, Miss Mocker. 
Have you anything pretty for a little girl? 

Francesca. Mamma, I don't wish a ready- 
made hat! 

Mrs. B. Now, darling, let us see what Miss 
Mocker has, and then if you don't like them 
we can order. 

Mary. We have lovely things. Miss Francesca 
— just imported from Paris by our head milliner — 

Francesca. Get them out then. [Francesca 
tosses over hats, dozvn front. Mrs. B. takes seat 
by mirror.] 

Mary. Something dressy, Mrs. Blount? 

Mrs. B. Oh, no — sweet and simple and girl- 
ish. 

Francesca. Not too simple and girlish. 

Mrs. B. [Faintly reproachful.] Francesca! 

Francesca. Well, I'm not going to wear any 
more bonnets, mamma. 

Mrs. B. You're going to w^ear what mamma 
gets for you. 

Fran. Providing mamma gets what I want! 

Mary. I'm sure we have just what you want. 

49 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Fran. Well, why don't yon get them out 
then? [Mary goes for hat.] 

Mes. B. Don't be rude to clerks, Francesca, 
it's such bad form. 

Fran. Fm not rude, mamma — but I didn't 
come here to have her tell me what I want. [Marv 
appears with tzvo hats. One simple — other 
stringed.] 

Mary. Here's something sweet. 

Fran. Isn't it? You can take that away. 
There's no use of trying it on me for I won't 
have it. 

Mrs. B. Francesca — you're very rude. Why 
don't you like it — -it's very sweet and pretty. 

Fran. Do you expect me to v/ear strings at 
my age? 

Mary. Strings are very fashionable for girls 
from 14 to 15. 

Fran. Well, they're not fashionable in my set ! 

Mrs. B. Just try it on, darling. 

Fran. [Sternly.] Mamma, I cannot permit 
you to buy me that thing, so it's a vraste of time 
to try it on. 

Mrs. B. [Resignedly.] It's sweet. 

Fran. If you like it so much buy it for your- 
self. You're always buying hats that are too 
young for me. 

Mrs. B. Francesca, I cannot permit this. 

Fran. Bring on the next. [Mary puts hat on 
her.] 

Fran. Here, if you buy me that you'll have 
to get me a nurse. We won't have that, thank 

oO 



MANNERS AND MODES. 

you. Well, is this all the imported hats from 
Paris ? 

Mary. No, we have others. Perhaps if you 
tell me what you want instead of what you don't 
— I might be able to suit you. 

Fran. I don't know what I want — that's the 
point, you see. 

Mrs. B. Francesca, you're really very rude. 
[Mary puts hat on her.] 

Fran. That may suit Paris, but it doesn't 
suit me. 

Mary. That's very pretty on you. 

Fran. I'm glad you think so. What's that 
over there? 

Mary. Won't you try this one ? 

Fran. No^ — I don't like it. 

Mrs. B. My dear, you can't tell how you like 
a thing until you try it on. 

Fran. Yes, I can tell by its expression when 
it sits up on my hand like that. [Mary returns 
zvith pale dress hat.] 

Mary. Is this the one you mean? 

Fran. Yes, try that on. 

Mrs. B. But, Francesca, that hat is much too 
old and elaborate for you. I can't allow you to 
buy it. 

Fran. I tell you, mamma, you buy it and I'll 
wear it occasionally. 

Mrs. B. I'll never bring you again. Here- 
after I'll buy your hats myself. 

Fran. And I'll pile them up on my shelf with 
the other bonnets you've bought me. I'm going 
to bring this matter up in the school on Monday, 

51 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

and see whether children ought to be coerced in 
buying hats. [Mary returns zvith hroad-brimmcd 
hat.] 

Mrs. B. There, that's lovely — try that on. 
[Mary puts it on her.] 

Fran. Now, isn't that szveet? 

Mary. You don't like that? 

Fran. Well, I should say I didn't. Suppose 
mamma, you buy this one for me, and I'll buy 
that one for you. 

Mrs. B. I'd never allow you to wear the 
thing — 

Fran. [Cheerfully.'] Very well, then, we 
won't take anything today. [Begins to put on her 
hat.] 

Mrs. B. I'm the best judge of what you ought 
to wear. 

Fran. But I have to wear it! 

Mrs. B. Darling, I'm in such a hurry. I 
promised to meet Mrs. Ed. U. Cator at ii and 
it's after that now. Won't you do what mamma 
wants you to? 

Fr.\n. [Suddenly.] All right. Give me your 
pocketbook, and I'll pay for it and then I'll meet 
you downstairs. 

Mrs. B. [Radiant.] That's mamma's nice lit- 
tle girl. Here's the pocketbook — now hurry 
down, won't you. It's not an expensive hat ? 

Mary. Oh, no. [Exit Mrs. B.] 

Fran. Put that one in the box. [Points to 
pale dress hat.] I won't have that other thing. 

Mary. But what will your mother say? 

Fran. Oh, ITi manage her all right when I 



MANNERS AND MODES. 

get her home. She doesn't like to give in before 
— servants ! How much is it ? 

Mary. [Coldly.] Thirty-live dollars. 

Fran. Thirty-five^ — 'whew — pleasant little sur- 
prise for mamma. Wonder if she's got it. [Turns 
contents of pockethook upside dozvn, and counts 
out tJiirty-Hz'e in twos, tens and small bills.] All 
but two cents — you'll have to trust me for that. 
It will come out today ? 

Mary. Probably. 

Fran. Good morning. [Gertie laughs and they 
begin to put azvay stoek.] 

Mary. How would you like to own that 
darling child ? I'd like to give her one good old- 
fashioned thrashing — 

Gertie. Oh, dear, Oh dear — it's un to me. 
[Enter Miss Optimist jaumily.] 

Miss O. I want a hat to wear with a tailor 
suit. Not too severe, and not too elaborate. 

Gertie. [Without looking at her.] All right. 
Sit down and I'll show you jusi the thing you 
want. [She gathers up a fezv hats helterskelter. 
She offers a turban, Miss O. smilingly examines 

it.] 

Miss O. That's a strange looking thing. Which 
is the front of it? [Gertie puts it on her.] Take 
it off quickly. It's such a shock to your self- 
esteem to see yourself in a thing like that ! [Ger- 
tie offers big hat.] Wait a moment. Suppose you 
look at me before you try any more. You see I 
have rather a round face so I can't wear either 
a very large or a very small hat. [Gertie sniffs 
and brings tzvo more.] 

53 



DRAMATIC llPISODES. 

Gertie. That's swell on you. 

Miss O. I fear it's a littfe too swell. [Takes 
it off and examines carefully.} What class is it? 
Animal, vegetable, or mineral? 

Gertie. [Haughtily.] It's one of the swell- 
est things we have in the house. 

Miss O. Um — hum. Let's see the other one. 
[Gertie puts it on her.] It looks as if there had 
been a landslide and part of it was lost. 

Gertie. [Incensed.] It's awfully hard to get 
a hat to look well on you, you've such a funny 
shaped head. 

Miss O. [Cheerfully.] Well, it's the only 
head I have. Haven't you a funny shape depart- 
ment? 

Gertie. Not yet — ^weVe thinking of putting 
one in! [Gertie goes to search for others, and 
Miss O. gets itp and tries various hats on herself, 
laughing.] Wonder why w^e didn't stop at head 
feathers — we've steadily degenerated ever since ! 
[Gertie comes hack zvith armful.] No — I don't 
care for that load. There — what's that? That's 
exactly the sort of thing I w^ant. [Gertie has 
great trouble finding the one she means, puts it 
on her and shakes her head violently.] 

Gertie. I don't like that one at all. 

Miss O. And I like it immensely! Hew 
much is it? 

Gertie. Fourteen dollars. 

Miss O. Fourteen — really? Why it's a bar- 
gain. I'll take it at once. Charge and send, 
please, Miss Optimist, 123 Hopeful Street. [She 
goes out. Mary conies on.] 
54 



MANNERS AND MODES. 

Mary. Sell her anything? 

Gertie. Did I ? Sold her the hat I been sav- 
in' and scrlmpin' for! One of these smarties — 
knows it all ! _ 

Mary. Well, she seemed to know a good 
thing when she saw it. Cheer up, Gertie! 
[Voice zvifhout: ''Foi-ward — forzvard/'] 

[Enter Mrs. Cheery, loaded with bimdles.] 

Mrs Cheery. Mornin' Miss — I want to buy 
a bunnit. 

Mary. All right. Black? 

Mrs. C. Wa'l, now, I'd say black myself, but' 
father an' the boys they sez this mornin' — "Now,' 
mother, don't git one of them black bunnits, with 
them etarnal black buttercups on ut," so I reckon 
I got to git another brand this time. [Mary and 
Gertie laugh.] 

Mary. I'll show you what we have. [Goes 
d\ff- and gets tzuo.] 

Mrs. C. I like black bunnits, myself. They 
hold their own so long. I wear my bunnits six 
years, an' it takes a black one to keep fresh and 
new lookin'. 

Mary. How would you like this gray one? 
It's sweet on your gray hair. 

Mrs. C. Mercy me — 1 don't look myself in 
that thing. 

Mary. No, you look ten years younger. 

Mrs. C. Well, I dunno as I like it. Most too 
stylish fur me. 

Mary. Young — Oh, no^ — -it's sweet on you. 

Mrs. C. You like it, do you? Well, T don't 
want to be dressin' up young at my age, 
'55 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Mary. Not a bit too young for you. Gertie, 
don't you think this is becomin' to the lady ? 

Gertie. It's just swe 

Mary. [Aside^l Don't say swell, or she won't 
take it. 

Gertie. It's grand on you. 

Mrs. C. Well, just try a black one to see how 
I look in it. [Mary goes for it. Mrs. C, turns to 
Gertie.] You look tired. Miss. 

Gertie. I am. 

Mrs. C. Well, set down an' rest. 

Gertie. I can't, the floorwalker might catch 
me at it. 

Mrs. C Do you mean to say that he won't 
let you set down? 

Gertie. 'Gainst the rules. 

Mary. Here's the black one. 

Mrs. C. This girl here is tired an' ought to 
rest. I'll go speak to the man about it 

Gertie. Wouldn't do any good — he'd think 
I'd been complainin'. 

Mrs. C. The idee — the very idee. I wish I 
had you out to our place, you poor, tired thing — 
I'd rest you up. Ah, there's the black one. Now, 
I look like Martha Cheery again, and father and 
the boys '11 know me all right. I don't want them 
to have to get used to a new mother that's ten 
years younger than she ought to be. I reckon 
I'll take that. 

^'•ov. All right, Mrs. Cheery. It's five dol- 
lars. 

Mrs. C. Land's sakes — bunnits gets dearer all 



MANNERS AND MODES. 

the time. I only paid two fifty for the one I got 
on. 

Mary. Shall I send it? 

Mrs. C. No, jest do it up in a passel an' I'll 
take it right along. [While Mary goes to get if 
wrapped, Gertie helps her ivith bonnet.] 

Gertie. Shall I tie it for you? 

Mrs. C. Oh, thank you. Miss. I ain't used 
to bein' waited on — I ain't never had a daughter 
to do things for me — nothin' but big hulkin' boys. 
I alius wanted a daughter. [Mary comes zvith 
parcel] Thank you. Miss. Well, now Fm off. 
If you ever happen out our way just come an' see 
us. We're five miles out of Lombard — everybody 
knows Daniel Cheery's. Goodbye to you — Good- 
bye. 

Both. Goodbye. 

Gertie. [Lightly] Good old soul! 

Mary. Bless her heart — makes you think of 
your own mother. [Carefully brushes a tear oif 
her cheek.] [Gong sounds.] Twelve o'clock, 
Gertie. Time for lunch. Come on. [They go 
•off.] 

curtain. 



57 



THE CONFESSIONAL 



THE CONFESSIONAL. 
CHAEACTEKS. 

Mr. Jerry Newton. 
Mrs. Jerry Newton. 
Barker, the Butler. 

Scene — "Newton's drawing room. Time — Nine 
o 'clock. 

[Mr. Jerry Newton strolls in, humming, fol- 
lozved by Mrs. Jerry, zvho stops at the door and 
speaks to the servant without.'] 

Mrs. Newton. Serve the coffee in here, please, 
Barker. [She strolls dozvn to a small table and 
picks tip a magamne, turning its leaves, absently.] 

Mr. Newton. It's many a long day, old lady, 
since we dined alone together. 

Mrs. Newton. [Absently] So it is — so it 
is. [The butler enters zvifh the coffee, going out 
quietly after having served it.] 

Mr. Newton. T'isn't such a bad idea — sort 
of like old times, before we took to going our own 
gait so steadily. Do you remember the bully little 
dinners we used to have at — 

Mrs. Newton. [Quickly] Yes, I remember 
— I remember. 

Mr. Newton. I'm afraid I bore you. [He 
puts his cap on the small table, and lights a 
cigarette, first offering the box to his zvife.] 
Will you have one? 

Mrs. Newton. No thanks — not now. Well — - 

61 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Jerr}' — amuse me. I expect people who dine with 
me to amuse me. What do you know that's new 
and interesting? [Mr. Nezvton sinks into a 
chair, and blozus rings.] 

Newton. New and interesting? Not a thing. 

Mrs. Newton. Hear that! Heaven be my 
witness, there is no virtue in wasting a nice Httle 
diner a deux on your own husband, if he refuses 
to tell you things ! 

Newton. 'Things'' is a trifle indefinite. Do 
you want news, poor dear recluse? Politics, art, 
literature, gossip, scandal, truth — what shall it be ? 
{Mrs. Nezi'ton sits down opposite him.] 

Mrs. Newton. [Meditatively] Politics, art, 
literature, gossip, scandal, truth. Well, I'll have a 
little of everything, thank you. 

Newton. By the way, have you run across 
that tale about Walton and Mrs. Starkweather ? 

Mrs. New^ton. Oh — so you dined out. Was 
it with Mrs. Dalton? 

Newton. [Looks at her] Why? What made 
you think of that ? 

Mrs. Newton. It's my system — it's very sim- 
ple. Shall I tell you about it? [He smiles at her, 
amused.] 

Newton. Do — by all means. 

Mrs. Newton. I haven't a bit of use for wo- 
men who pry — I wouldn't think of asking where 
you went last night — ^and yet, I almost always 
know. If you talk politics — 'I say to myself — 
"Evening at the club." If it's art or literature — 
in the abstract — I conclude — "Evening spent with 
some of his impecunious geniuses." Gossip — and 

62 



THE CONFESSIONAL. 

scandal — that's easy — dinner or a functioxi. 
Truth — ^[Lallghs^^ well — Heaven only knows what 
I would suspect if you talked of truth. [Mr. 
Nezvfon rises, zvith a faint smile, and zvalks up to 
the fireplace, into which he Hicks his ashesJ] 

Newton. Do you mean to say that my actions 
are daily subjected to this — this — system? You 
pump your victim and then draw conclusions? 

Mrs. Newton. Exactly. It's painless to the 
victim, and effective in bringing about immediate 
results. [Mr. Newton comes slozvly forward and 
stands by his wife^s chair looking dozvn at her.] 

Newton. I didn't suppose you cared a hang 
where I spent my evenings, as long as I didn't 
bother you. 

Mrs. Newton. [Quickly] I don't. 

Newton. Oh, yes you do — or eise you 
wouldn't take so much trouble. Hereafter, I 
shall tell you every day of the world, where I 
spent the preceding evening. 

Mrs. Newton. Absurd — I wouldn't listen. 

Newton. Yes, you would. We might ex- 
change confidences. Confessional — your dressing 
room. Time — ten a. m. You confess me and I 
confess you. What do you say? We don't see 
an}^ too much of each other these days, and it 
might be amusing. A tourney in truth-telling. 

Mrs. Newton. A tourney in truth-telling? 
You know, I'm not so sure I could tell the truth 
if I tried. Truth is such a dampener to a really 
imaginative nature — truth is so crude ! 

Newton. It's a magnificent idea — ^to my mind. 

63 



DRAMATIC EPISODES, 

Let's begin now — the truth, the whole truth and 
nothing but the truth. Shall I begin? 

Mrs. Newtox. No — I'll begin. No — no, I 
won't either — you begin. You're to tell every- 
thing you did last night. 

Newton. All right. But if I begin, you're ta 
listen, and not spend the time making up whop- 
pers about what you did last night. 

Mrs. Newton. Cast out suspicion from your 
black old heart. If this is a truth contest — ^we've 
got to beh'eve each other. Now go on, I'm pre- 
pared for the worst. [Mr, Newton paces to and 
fro, as he talks.] 

Newton. Well, I dined at the Annex with 
Cobdcn, went to the club after dinner, played 
billiards until eleven, and poker from eleven to 
one. [Barker appears at the door.] 

Barker. Some one to speak with you at the 
telephone, Mr. Newton, sir. 

Newton. Can't come ; Barker say I'm busy. 
You take the message. [Barker goes out] 

Newton. At one o'clock I came home, and 
vvent to bed. True and uninteresting account of 
a virtuous and tiresome evening. [Barker ap- 
pears at door.] 

Barker. It's Mrs. Dalton on the wire, sir. 
She wants to know if you carried off her gloves 
last night by mistake, and if so, will you bring 
them with you to the theater tonight? 

Newton. Say to IMrs. Dalton, please, that 
she must be mistaken about the gloves, and that 
I shall not be able to join her at the theater. 

64 



THE CONFESSIONAL. 

Barker. Yes, sir. [Barker goes out, Mrs. 
Newton laughs, and rises.l 

Mrs. Newtois^. ''A true and uninteresting ac- 
count of a virtuous and tiresome evening." Pos- 
sibly we had better agree upon some definition of 
truth, before we go any further with — our game. 

Newton. Just wait, Nance, until you hear the 
story, before you 

Mrs. Newton. Don't — I beg of you, don't try 
to improve upon the tale— it's good enough as it 
stands! Dutiful Ulysses dining at home with 
patient Penelope tells her the true tale of his 
wanderings. And always while the hero tarried 
and sang with the Siren, he longed for home and 
Penelope, didn't he? It's the same old tale— al- 
ways the same. It's dished up to us in every gen- 
eration. And we always swallow it — that's the 
lovely part of it. 

Newton. Must confess I don't see any close 
resemblance between you and Penelope. If you 

would allow me about three words [Mrs. 

Nezvfon starts tozvard the door.} 

Mrs. Newton. Don't spoil the situation by 
explaining. It's good enough for a play. There's 
one thing I would like to say while we're on the 
subject. I don't care a farthing for your flirta- 
tions, Jerry, and I'm not a bit jealous, but I do 
think the way that Dalton woman acts is a little 
too much. I haven't a thing on earth against the 
woman, except that she's the silliest little cat I 
ever knew. If she amuses you — why, you're eas- 
ily amused. The way she acted the other night 
at the Rush-Pattens was nauseating. Now, if you 

65 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

want to have your flirtations with this, that and 
the other woman, for goodness sake pick Out 
somebody we both Hke ! 

Newton. That we both like! Well, you are 
rich. [Mr. Jerry Newton leans back and roars.] 

Mrs. Newton. I'm glad you're so amused, and 
in order that I may not longer detain you from 
Mrs. Dalton's box, I'll withdraw. [Mr, Newton 
rises deliberately, marches up to her, takes her 
firmly by the arms, and leads her to a chair. Then 
he pidls his own chair opposite her.] 

Newton. My dear girl — this situation may be 
good enough for a play, but don't let's make a 
farce comedy out of it. 

Mrs. Newton. I have no desire to listen to 
explanations. 

Newton. [Quietly] The story I told you 
about last night was absolutely true. I did go to 
the club, after dining at the Annex — the only 
thing I omitted was an incident so trivial that I 
had forgotten it. 

Mrs. Newton. [Derisively] Forgotten it? 

Newton. Exactly. On the way out of the 
Annex we met the Daltons. We talked about 
three minutes to them and she asked us to join 
them at the theater tonight. I declined. Why 
she telephoned — I can't imagine. 

Mrs. Newton. And the gloves. 

Newton. There you have me — I confess the 
gloves are beyond me. I have no gloves, and never 
have had any gloves belonging to Mrs. Dalton. 
[Mrs. Newton laughs. He comes toward her 
swiftly.] You don't believe me. I've told you the 

66 






THE CONFESSIONAL. 

truth absolutely. The incident at the Annex took 
some three minutes. I agree with you that Mrs. 
Dalton is a silly, stupid woman. But poor little 
goose, think of any human creature being married 
to Dalton — and be merciful ! 

Mrs. Newton. So it's mercy — untempered 
with justice. She doesn't amuse you then? 

Newton. Frankly she bores me almost to 
death, but I'm deuced sorry for her. [He leans 
over her chair, and takes her hand.] You see, old 
lady — it was pretty much ado over nothing. 

Mrs. Newton. So it was. I was stupid — I'm 
sorry, Jerry, let's call it quits. Shall we go on with 
the truth game? 

Newton. By all means. [He makes himself 
comfortable, and lights another cigarette.] 

Mrs. Newton. It's my turn, now. Last night 
I dined at home. I was to have gone to the Mar- 
tins with Peggy at nine — 

Newton. Pardon. Dined at home — might one 
ask if you dined alone? 

Mrs. Newton. Yes. Mr. and Mrs. Peggy 
and Jack Harrington were to have dined here, 
but I was out of sorts, so I phoned Peggy to 
keep Jack with her for dinner and pick me up 
later. Then I decided I wouldn't go at all — so 
Marie telephoned them, and I went to bed. 

Newton. Ah, that's all, is it? 

Mrs. Newton. Um — hum. 

Newton. But — where does Harrington come 
in? 

Mrs. Newton. [Glancing at him quickly.] 
He comes in later. 

C7 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Newton. So I understood. 

Mrs. Newton. Might one ask how ? 

Newton. Certainly. Mr. Peggy grew weary 
of the Martin brand of party, and turned up at 
the club. He was good enough to mention that 
Harrington reconsidered when you shook the 
crowd, and had joined you here. Of course, it 
was information I relished. 

Mrs. Newton. Why shouldn't you relish it? 

Newton. Now, I don't give a rap who you 
dangle, Nance, if that sort of thing amuses you, 
but that sap-headed Harrington — I will not stand 
for. 

Mrs. Newton. Will not? Who asked you to 
stand for him? 

Newton. [Hotly.] Will not — is what I said. It 
doesn't look very well to my thinking to have him 
hanging at your heels from morning to night. I 
think it was all fired impertinent of him, showing 
up here last night after you'd dismissed him, to 
spend the evening ! 

Mrs. Newton. He didn't spend the evening. 

Mr. Newton. Well, I think it's time he was 
put down the coal-hole ! [He starts tozvard^ the 
door. Mrs. Neivton looks at htm, half serious, 
half amused. A smile flashes across her face, 
and is follozved by a look of great concern.] 

Mrs. Newton. Jerry — don't go — I want you 
to listen to me — I want you to know about it. Mr. 
Harrington did come last night, but he couldn't 
stay but a minute — 

Newton. Oh, he couldn't, couldn't he ? 

C8 



THE CONFESSIONAL, 

Mrs. Newton. He said he longed to — but — he 
— he didn't dare. 

Newton. Didn't dare — now look here — there 
are limits. What did the cub mean ? 

Mrs. Newton. [Weakly,] I really can't say — 
I told him — I told him'— 

Newton. Well — well — what did you tell him ? 
Out with it. [She starts toward the door, and 
stops at the threshold.} 

Mrs. Newton. I told him that I really couldn't 
stand him "Fridays, and Saturdays and all" — I 
told him that he amused me so intensely that I 
couldn't bear it — and that the worst of it was, that 
when I was so amused I sometimes became un- 
manageable and — threw things! 

Newton. But he — 

Mrs. Newton. Wait. He stood here — just 
here in the doorway — with his hat and his poor 
little broken heart and he said — "I long to stay — 
but I don't dare." [Mrs. Newton laughs gayly and 
goes out, Mr. Jerry Nezvton starts after her has- 
tily, his face like a storm cloud. He thinks better 
of it, stops, smiles — then laughs, takes another 
cigarettey and calls — ] 

Newton. Nance — Oh, Nance. [Mrs. Nezvton' s 
head appears at once at the door,] What are you 
doing there? 

Mrs. Newton. [Promptly,] Waiting to be 
called back. 

Newton. Oh, very well. I didn't call. [He 
takes up a book and turns leaves.] 

Mrs. Newton. I said — called back — not — 

69 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

down! [She comes and leans on the hack of a 
chair watching him. Presently he looks «/>.] 

Newtox. Have you really dismissed that 
cub? 

Mrs. Newton. Well — I think he took it for 
a dismissal. 

Newton. How about Jenks? [Mrs, Nezvton 
points to regions below, with her thumb.] And 
Scott — and Harry Laurence? [Mrs. Nezvton re- 
peats the gesture, with such vigor that he follows 
the direction of the thnm.b.] Hum — Where? 

Mrs. Newton. [Solemnly.] In the coal- 
hole! 

Newton. Really ? And you're not in love with 
any of them? 

Mrs. Newton. [Sighs.] No. 

Newton. [Suspicioiisly.] Nor with anybody 
else? 

Mrs. Newton. Well — I don't know — 

j\Ir. Newton. W — H — A — T? Some new 
one? [She nods and comes and sits on edge of 
his chair.] 

Mrs. Xewton. I'm afraid — Fm ashamed to 
tell you — it's so absurd. You won't believe me — 
but it's the solemn truth. 

Newton. We don't seem to have much luck 
with truth. Truth is — ^}'0u never really loved 
anybody in your life. 

Mrs. Newton. Well — I do now. 

Newton. What? What? Who is it? Who 
is he? 

70 



THE CONFESSIONAL, 

Mrs. Newton. Don't laugh at me, now — • 
Jerry — don't laugh at me. It's you — you dear 
old goose^ — -it's you ! 

Tableau. 

CURTAIN. 



71 



THE CHILD IN THE HOUSE 



THE CHILD IN THE HOUSE. 

A SATIRICAL SKETCH. 
CHAIJACTEKS. 

Mrs. Thorpe an authority on modern child study 

Mrs. Lang 

Miss Beeves 

Mrs. Brown an old fashioned lady, 70 years young 

Jeniee Thorpe a modern child 

Time — Present. 

Place — Mrs. Thorpe 's drawing room. 

Costumes — Modern. 

Setting — Mrs, Thorpe's Drazving-room. Mrs. 
Thorpe at center at tea table pouring tea as cur- 
fain rises. The other zvomen are grouped about, 
Mrs. Brown at right down front y Miss Reeves 
near table, Mrs. Lang left center. 

Mrs. Lang. [Sipping her tea with a sigh.] 
Oh — this is the pleasantest hour of the day — the 
tea hour. Thank Heaven, one can't take tea 
with an ulterior motive ! I declare, I've had such 
a day — my reading club met this morning, and of 
course, I had to see that performance of "Ghosts" 
this afternoon — and the result is my cerebral rem- 
nants refuse to coordinate! [All laugh.] 

Miss Reeves. You poor dear — why just sit- 
ting through ''Ghosts'* is effort enough for one 
week! [Takes tea from Mrs, T. and goes to 
Mrs. Brozvn.] 

75 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Mrs. Brown. Thank you, my dear. How 
hard you children do make it for yourselves! 

Mrs. Thorpe. Do we not? Why, just being 
up to date is the work of a lifetime. You must 
have politics, literature, art, science at your finger 
ends — on your tongue's tip. Of course, we're 
artificial — life's too short to be anything else. 

Miss Reeves. I just envy the woman of fifty 
years ago — she hadn't a problem on earth ! 

Mrs. Brown. My dear, don't delude yourself 
into thinking anything of the sort. Your grand- 
mother's Hfe wasn't any simpler than yours is. 
The only difference is, she was content to do one 
thing well, instead of dabbling in many. To be 
a good wife and a good mother was to her the 
paramount duty, and she did it without question ! 

Mrs. Lang. And we question — -and don't do 
it — there is a difference, isn't there ? But do you 
really believe, Mrs. Brown, that she did do it 
without question? 

Mrs. Brown. The average woman — ^yes — I 
think so. 

Mrs. Thorpe. And was the world any better 
then than it is now? [She goes to Mrs. B. and 
takes her cup.] Let me fill it again. 

Mrs. Brown. The world was certainly more 
comfortable then, than it is now. When I com- 
pare the results of, say — my mother's Hfe, and 
that of a mother of today, I'm inclined to say it 
was better then. Just look at the difference in 
the children for instance. The old-fashioned child 
was taught a few good rules — ^lionesty, respect, 
obedience — at least, he knew what those words 

76 



THE CHILD IN THE HOUSE. 

meant, and I confess, I sometimes doubt whether 
the modern child ever hears of these things. 

Miss Reeves. Now, Mrs. Brown, I would 
have granted you an illustration on any other 
subject, but our one claim to superiority lies in 
the work we are doing in child study — z work 
that is bringing about the most wonderful results. 

Mrs. Brown. When — now? 

Miss Reeves. Not now, perhaps — ^but the 
future will show what wonders can be accom- 
plished by the sensible natural treatment of the 
child. 

Mrs. Brown'. In the meantime — thousands of 
little souls are being ruined. [Mrs. Thorpe brings 
another cup of tea to Mrs. B.] 

Mrs. Thorpe. Now, I take issue with you 
there, my dear friend. Take^ — well — take Jenice. 
She's been brought up on the theory of natural 
development. 

Mrs. Lang. And Jenice is such a dear child ! 

Mrs. Brown. [Skeptically.'] And the result 
is satisfactory? 

Mrs. Thorpe. Thoroughly. She has never 
been forced to do anything she didn't want to do. 
She has always been reasoned with. When she 
is naughty, I simply make the result of her mis- 
deed recoil upon her, and so I develop in the child 
a moral sense. I never demand respect. I show 
her that respect for others and courtesy are twO' 
things necessary to make society possible. So you 
see, she develops these things naturally of her 
own accord. In short — it Is working from with- 
in. Instead of coercing from without. 

77 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Miss Reeves. It's making a reasoning human 
being, instead of a little barbarian caged in by 
restrictions ! 

Mrs. Brown. [Shaking her head.] You com- 
plain that life is too complex — and then you make 
your children reasoning human beings at ten ! 
I'm afraid I'm old fashioned enough to prefer the 
restrictions without the reasoning. [Mrs, Thorpe 
drazvs chair near Mrs. Brozun.] 

Mrs. Thorpe. You see, dear old-fashioned 
lady, even our children have become "problems" 
— ^one of the numerous problems that are thrust 
upon us! [Wild screams from zvithout.] 

Miss Reeves. [Springing up,] What on 
earth is that? [Door -flung open, Jenice enters.] 

Jenice. Mamma — Mamma — I want you to 
come at once and send Marie away. I've dis- 
charged her and she won't go. [Mrs. T. rises 
and goes to Jenice at center.] 

Mrs. Thorpe. Jenice, I'm surprised at you. 
Don't you see these ladies? 

Jenice. [Covers her eyes.] No — no — I don't 
see them. I won't see anybody until you send 
Marie away. 

Mrs. Thorpe. What did Marie do? 

Jenice. She won't obey me — she won't do 
what I tell her to, and she shan't stay in this 
house another minute unless she promises to 
mind ! 

Mrs. Thorpe. Jenice, I want you to leave this 
room, until you can act like a lady. Do you hear 
me? 

Jenice. Why, yes, of course I hear you. 






THE CHILD IN THE HOUSE. 

Mrs. Thorpe. Well, then, obey me. [Jenice 
stands still, so Mrs. T. attempts to put her out.] 

Jenice. Aren't you ashamed to pull me 
around like that? Do you think you're acting 
like a lady ? [Mrs. T. and Jenice speak in under- 
tone at door.] 

Mrs. Brown. [Smiling.'] I'm relieved to see 
that "reasoning" is sometimes reinforced! 

Mrs. Thorpe. [Leading Jenice.] Mrs. 
Brown — this is Jenice. Shake hands with Mrs. 
Lang, dear. 

Jenice. I know you. How's Arabella? 

Mrs. Lang. She's well, thank you, dear. You 
must come and spend the day with her. 

Jenice. No — -siree — she's the meanest kid in 
this whole block. I'd like to slap her face for her 
about thirteen times^ — -the old slob! Consterna- 
tion among guests.] 

Mrs. Thorpe. Jenice, that's very rude ! 

Jenice. Being rude, means telling the truth — 
I won't do it again. 

Mrs. Thorpe. This is Miss Reeves, dearie. 

Jenice. Oh, you're the one, are you? Papa 
said you'd been trying to catch a man for twenty 
years, have you? [Mrs. T. drags her toward 
door in desperation.] 

Mrs. Thorpe. Now, run away, dear — run 
along to Marie — 

Jenice. [To Mrs. L.] What do you wear 
that funny little hat for? It looks like — 

Mrs. Thorpe. Jenice — did you hear mamma 
— run away now — 

79 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Jenice, [Seats herself at table.] I wish to 
stay and have tea. 

Mrs. Brown. Don't you think that tea spoils 
Httle girl's dinners? 

Jenice. No, I do not. What were you all 
chattering about when I came in? 

Mrs. Lang. We were talking about polite 
children. 

Jenice. [Eating sugar.] Humph — Arabella's 
bad enough ! 

Mrs. Brown. Your mother was telling us 
how polite you were, and how considerate of 
other people's feelings! 

Jenice. [Sternly.] Did you tell them that? 

Mrs. Thorpe. Yes, I did, but they won't be- 
lieve me now. 

Jenice. They oughn't to — lies are always 
found out, you know. I'll take three lumps of 
sugar. 

Mrs. Brown. Better not, dearie — 'you'll have 
a stomach ache. 

Jenice. I'd rather have the stomach ache — 
and have the sugar. 

Mrs. Lang. Will you come here and talk to 
me a little bit? 

Jenice. [Inspects her solemnly.] Oh, yes, I 
think I wall. [Goes and sits by Mrs. L.] 

Mrs. Brown. The reasoning faculty is cer- 
tainly developed! 

Miss Reeves. [In conciliatory tone.] How 
old are you, Jenice? 

Jenice, Ten. How old are you? 

Mrs. Brown. What do you do all day — play? 

80 



THE CHILD IN THE HOUSE. 

Jenice. Certainly not. I go to school, danc- 
ing school, and take singing, fencing and French. 

Mrs. Lang. My — what a busy little girl. Can 
you sing? 

Jenice. Of course, what do you suppose I 
take lessons for ? 

Miss Reeves. Will you sing something for 
us? [Jenice marches to Mrs. Brozvn.] 

Jenice. Do you wish me to sing? 

Mrs. Brown. [Highly amused.] Yes, in- 
deed. [Jenice siiigs little song, either unaccom- 
panied, or with Mrs. Thorpe at piano.] 

Miss Reeves. That's very pretty, indeed. 

Jenice. I don't like you — I wish you wouldn't 
look at me. 

Miss Reeves. Why? 

Jenice. Because, I think you're so ugly! 

Mrs. Thorpe. Jenice — Jenice — what do you 
mean — 

Mrs. Brown. [Rises.] I think I must go, 
Mrs. Thorpe. I'm so glad to have found you at 
home, and to have met your daughter, who is 
being brought up on the ''natural theory." [She 
puts her hand on J.'s shoulder.] The theory is 
doubtless a good one — but I think I'm a little 
sorry for the child! 

Jenice. You don't like me, do you? But I 
like you — •! think I want to kiss you ! 

Mrs. Brown. [Kisses her] Thank you, dear. 
Mrs. Lang, I shall be glad to take you along with 
me — plenty of room, you know. 

Mrs. Lang. Thanks — if I thought I wouldn't 

crowd you 

81 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Mrs. Brown. Not at all. We'll say good af- 
ternoon then. Come and see me soon, and bring 
the daughter. [Mrs. Brozvn and Mrs. Lang go 

Ollt.^ 

]\Iiss Reeves. I must be off too. Goodbye, 
Jenice. 

Jenice. I won't shake hands with you. 

Mrs. Thorpe, Don't mind her, will you ? I 
don't know what is the matter with her today 

Miss Reeves. Oh, I don't mind. Goodbye, 
my dear. I suppose I'll see you at the Mother's 
meeting in the morning. [Exit. Mrs. Thorpe 
drops in chair and hides her face in her hands.] 

Mrs. Thorpe. Jenice, Jenice, how could you 
act so? You'll break my heart, if you go on like 
this ! [Jenice stands before her, hands behind her 
back.] 

Jenice. I'm sorry to see you cry — but you al- 
ways get punished if you're mean. That was all 
a lie about Marie. I stood outside the door and 
yelled because I knew you were having an old tea 
party and I wanted to punish you for taking that 
book away from me this morning. 

Mrs. Thorpe. I explained to you that that 
book was not a book for you to read. 

Jenice. I'm a reasoning human being, and 
you know it — you've told me so often enough. Be- 
sides, you took the book away from me, and 
didn't act like a lady, and so you had to be pun- 
ished. I'm sorry! [She marches out.] 

CURTAIN. 



82 



1 



THE LION AND THE LADY 



THE LION AND THE LADY. 

A Play in One Act. 

CHAEACTEKS. 

Henry Earlsford, an impetuous, hot-lieaded actor. 

Lady" Margaret Mandeville, a charming, piquant * ' lady 

of quality, ' ' who amuses herself by masquerading as a 

serving maid. 
Scene — Henry Earlsford 's Study. Luxuriously furnished, 

with many books, handsome rugs, a writing table, a 

huge leather couch and comfortable library chairs. A 

fire burns on the hearth. A large bust of Shakespeare, 

on a pedestal, is the dominating feature of the room. 

There is a small table with a decanter and glasses 

and a paper-strewn library table. 

Setting. Ear Is ford's study. Enter Lady 
Margaret Mandeville, in quiet street gown, hag in 
hand. She looks about cautiously, before entering, 
then seeing no one, dashes in. 

Lady Margaret. Mrs. Dobbs — Oh, Mrs. 
Dobbs — why, she isn't here! Well you're here, 
Lady Margaret Mandeville — you're here — this is 
your new place ! {Laughing'\ I wonder what 
part I'm to play in this farce. [Puts bag on table, 
and sits dozvn in arm chair.'] Incidents of the 
Prologue — [Counting oif on iingers]. No. i. 
Margaret Mandeville, aged twenty-five — of some 
experience and discretion, falls in love like any 
school girl, with Henry Earlsford, actor. No. 2. 
Margaret Mandeville sits next Henry Earlsford 
at dinner, and hears him indulge in pleasantries 
such as these [Imitating his manner'] : ''The 

85 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

women of our aristocracy lead the dullest lives 
in the world. They can know nothing of real 
active life, because they have no originality — and 
if they had, they would never defy convention 
enough to act upon the original idea." Lady Mar- 
garet fights his statements all the way. He con- 
cludes the conversation by saying: "Madame, 
I have yet to find that delightful possibility — an 
English woman of title, who dared to act upon an 
impulse!'' [Gets up and zvalks about, staring at 
things.] Now, that's the end of the prologue! 
The comedy begins ! Act I. [She conies to front] 
Lady Margaret's madness takes shape. She an- 
swers the advertisement of one, Mrs. Dobbs, for 
a housemaid, because said Dobbs is Henry Earls- 
ford's housekeeper. Result of agonizing half hour 
of catechism by Dobbs : "Well, my dear, you 
don't seem very smart, but you've a nice face — • 
and we'll try you. Come on Monday, with your 
bag!" And here I am — bag and all^ — but no 
Dobbs! [Deep voice heard without, No, no; 
certainly not.] 

Lady Margaret. [Catching her breath] Oh, 
dear — oh, dear — there he is! [Grabs her bag and 
dashes out door at left, as door at right opens, 
and Henry Earlsford stands on the threshold.] 

Henry E. [Sternly to Dobbs, zvithont] I 
don't care if he's been here forty times — tell him 
I'm out. Admit no one, Dobbs. I wish to be 
alone. [Closes door and strides in, puts his hat 
on rack by door at right. Brushes the hair oif 
his brozv in the true Irvingesqne zvay; then comes 
front.] 

86 



i 



THE LION AND THE LADY. 

Earlsford. [Pacing to and fro.] If I might 
only retire during the day into some secluded hole 
in the ground, where I'd be free from the army 
of poor playwrights, with poorer plays for me — 
poor actors wanting to support me, poor stage 
struck girls wanting to love me, poor titled ladies 
wanting to pet and exhibit me ! Bah ! [ Throzvs 
AISS. he carries in hand on table, and sits doivn 
zvearily in arm chair.] These the diversions of 
the day — at night a thick skulled audience damns 
me' best efforts, because me' walk, me' neck, me' 
elocution is not of the conventional cut! And 
when, for an instant, Fate seems to smile upon 
me, and places me at a stupid dinner next the 
only woman in the world who ever really at- 
tracted me, I find out later that I've been talkingf 
to Lady Margaret Mandeville, when I thought 
she was an American, and I recall with joy me' 
whole conversation was concerning my convic- 
tion of the stupidity of the English woman of title ! 
[Angrily] Well, she led me on — what right had 
she to let me make a fool of myself — who is this 
Lady Margaret Mandeville ? [lust as he thunders 
her name, the lady in question appears at the door 
at left, daintily gowned as a housemaid. She car- 
ries a carpet sweeper and a duster, both of which 
she drops with a clatter, upon hearing her name. 
He turns angrily and looks at her.] 

Earlsford. Who are you? 

Lady M. [Her head high at his tone.] I'm 
Lady Mar — [Complete change to tone and man- 
ner] — Peggy f [Courtesying as an afterthought.] 

87 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Earlsford. [Grimly.] Remarkable — Lady 
Marpeggy ! 

Lady M. [Recovering herself — coiirtesys 
again.] You didn't 'ear me, soir — ]vlrs. Dobbs 
didn't tell me 'as 'ow you wuz deaf. [Very 
loud.] My name's Peggy, sir, and I'm the 'ouse- 
maid ! 

Earlsford. Nonsense, woman — I'm not deaf! 
What are you going to do with that? [Point- 
ing to sweeper.] 

Lady M. [With despairing glance at it.] I 
dunno, sir. [Catching herself.] I mean — I'm to 
brush up a bit, sir. 

Earlsford. [Tragically.] Leave the room — I 
told Dobbs to admit no one. I will not have the 
cleaning done while I am in the house ! Am I to 
have no peace? 

Lady M. I 'opes so — sir — but please don't 
send me off — I'm so afraid of Mrs. Dobbs, she's 
cruel stern with us servants ! I'll sweep very 
quietly — quietlike. [Earlsford throws himself 
down on conch at left, MSS, in hand, and begins 
to read.] 

Earlsford. [Distrait.] Leave the room, I say. 
[Lady Margaret stands at back a moment, unde- 
cided; then begins to examine and try to zvork 
the szveeper. Instead of pushing it, she pulls it 
after her like a wagon. Of course it leaves a 
string of dirt behind. She finally sits dozvn on 
the Hoor in a heap, and turns the thing upside 
dozvn and looks at it. Earlsford becomes con- 
scious of some one in room, and sits up on conch, 
peering over back at her. Finally thunders at her.] 
What — are you still there? 

88 



THE LION AND THE LADY 

Lady M. [Jumps and catches her breath.] 
Yes, I am — I mean I are ! [Holding sweeper out 
tozvard him.] Do you know how this thing works? 
[She says "zvoiks.^'] [She comes down front and 
pulls thing once across stage.] Now, look — it 
all spills. [He sits gazing at her in rapt amaze- 
ment. Impatiently.] Don't you see — it — it 
leaks, sir ! [He sits up, throws back hair from his 
brow J stalks fonvard and takes szveeper from her.] 

Earlsford. [Pushing it.] Of course, it spills if 
you pull it backwards. 

Lady M. [Taking it.] Oh, I see — it goes for- 
wards — frontwards ! 

Earlsford. Didn't you ever see a sweeper be- 
fore? 

Lady M. Not that kind — they alius had pul- 
ley ones, where I worked before at — at Lady Man- 
devilles ! 

Earlsford. [Eagerly.] Mandeville — Lady 
Margaret Mandeville? 

Lady M. [Beginning to szveep.] The soime, 
sir. D'ye know her? 

Earlsford. [Going back to couch.] Slightly. 

Lady M. [Glancing at him.] Don't loike her 
— do ye — well, I don't believe she'd loike you — 
either. But I alius loiked her ladyship — she were 
alius koind to — us servants. [She upsets chair. 
As he looks back in annoyance.] Don't let me 
bother you, soir — it's nothin' but a chair. [Goes 
at it noisily again.] Yes, she wuz good to us — 
Christmas 'op in the servants* quarters, and all 
that — but la — I don't henvy 'er, soir, does you ? 

Earlsford. Why don't you envy her, Peggy ? 

89 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

[She begins to dust. Then carefully fixes up dis- 
ordered desk.'] 

Lady I\I. O, Lor' — she's a stupid toime of it, 
sittin' up there in her draring- room, bein' so 
proper an' fine. She don't [Flick, Hick zvith the 
duster.] — she don't know nothin' about real Hfe, 
sir. 

Earlsford. [Sitting tip suddenly.] That's 
just what I said ! 

Lady M. [Looking hack at him.] What — sir? 

Earlsford. I was saying — that you seemed to 
be a person of some discrimination for one of your 
position. 

Lady M. Thank'ee, sir ; I does discrim a bit. 

Earlsford. You what? 

Lady M. Discrim — ain't that the word you 
said, sir? [He picks up his book again, smiling, 
and begins to read. Lady Margaret dusts the 
tongs — looks over at him, smiles and hangs them 
on a hook over the mantelpiece. Then she dusts 
his hat, and puts it on bust of Shakespeare at a 
rakish angle. She talks as she works — he never 
looks up^ There's only one thing I henvy 'er 
ladyship, an' that's the theater — she goes every 
night. I fancy she's got a case [Pronounced 
"caise."] on some actor or other. 

Earlsford. Got a what? 

Lady M. Coise! [He shakes his head, un- 
comprehendingly — she says impatiently.] Coise of 
softs. 

Earlsford. Coise of softs? [She nods cheer- 
fully.] 

90 



THE LION AND THE LADY. 

Earlsford. [Getting light.] Oh, you mean she 
Hkes some actor ! 

Lady M. [Gating at him in silent admiration.] 
My eye — but you're sharp- — soir. 

Earlsford. [Gets tip and goes tozvard her.] 
Do you know who he is — have you any idea? 
[She nods, she goes up to him, gets on tip toes to 
zi'hisper in his car, in loud stage whisper.] 

Lady M. It's Mr. Sidney Carteret! 

Earlsford. [Turns azvay, and goes across 
stage slozvly, saying] : Sidney, must you win ev- 
erything with that merry smile of yours. Ah, 
well, ah, w-ell — [Goes off info deep sigh.] [Lady 
Margaret, during this speech, has been follozving 
close on his footsteps zvifh the szveeper, and zvhen 
he turns he stumbles on it.] [Angrily and dra- 
matically.] What do you mean, Impertinence? 
Take that away — take it away. Now leave the 
room — out of my sight ! 

Lady M. [Holding her ground.] But I 'oint 
through. 

Earlsford. Silence ! 

Lady M. But how are you goin' to know 
what I'm thinkin' if I cawn't speak? I 'oint an 
actor ! 

Earlsford. I don't want to know what you 
are thinking— go! [She goes slozvly, dragging 
the szveeper, humming "Last zveek dozvn our al- 
ley, come a toff/' etc., slams the door.] 

Earlsford. Impossible — most impertinent. I 
won't have her about with her saucy ways. [Looks 
about, then in tone of deep surprise, even horror.] 
What does this mean ? Is the girl mad ? [Angrily.] 

91 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Well, we will see about this — we will see. 
[Strides to door at right, calling,] Dobbs — 
Dobbs, I say, [No anszver, he strides to door at 
left, calling there; still no ansu'er.] Where is the 
woman — what is the matter in this house — surely 
the times are out of joint ! Mrs. Dobbs ! Mrs. 
Dobbs! [Goes out door at right, still calling. 
Door at left opens cautiously. Lady Margaret's 
head appears, then shoidders, then she comes in. 
Earlsford zvithout calls ''Dobbs.''] 

Lady M. [With mock bozv to door at left.] 
Well, you won't find Dobbs out there, my very 
dear sir, because she's gone to the vegetable stalls 
— tra-la. [Skipping forzvard.] Well, it isn't such 
bad fun — if it only wasn't for Dobbs. My, didn't 
I catch it for being so long at that sweeping! 
[She seats herself comfortably at the table, 
crosses her feet and leans back — picks np MSS. 
he has tossed on the table.] Oh, ho; a new play. 
[Turns over leaves.] It really was very clever 
of me to think of having served at Lady Mar- 
garet's. He was so anxious to draw me out, and 
so afraid I'd see it. [Laughs merrily.] And he 
did look so funny when I said Sidney Carteret! 
[More laughter. Enter Earlsford quickly.] 

Earlsford. [Explosively] Dobbs! 

Lady M. [Smile frozen on her face.] Oh, 
dearie me. [Earlsford sees her, strides forzvard 
and faces her furiously.] 

Earlsford. What are you doing here? What 
does this mean? This is in a line with your con- 
duct — you — you baggage! What are you doing 
in my study? 

92 



THE LION AND THE LADY. 

Lady M. [Weakly'] I'm a — Fm a sittin' here! 

Earlsford. [Folding his arms.'] Well, what 
do you mean by sitting here? 

Lady M. [Crossly] Well, I didn't know you'd 
be back so soon ! 

Earlsford. [Throzvs hack head and laughs 
sarcastic laugh.] Oh, ho, she didn't know I'd 
be back so soon. [Sees his MSS.] What! 
Reading my private papers, eh ? 

Lady M. Oh, is this a private play? I 
thought plays was 'alius public! I like it very 
much. [Handing it to him.] 

Earlsford. [Elaborafely.] Undoubtedly it 
would delight the playwright to hear it. 

Lady M. [Solemnly.] Tell him then, won't 
you? 

Earlsford. [With sweeping gesture to room.] 
Just look at this room! [She turns a complete 
circle, slowly, looking round and then facing him, 
a half da::;ed, uncomprehending smile on her face.] 

Lady M. Yes. [With sigh.] It's grand— oint 
it? 

Earlsford. [Sternly] Is that the place for the 
tongs ? 

Lady M. [Great surprise] Oint it — it's the 
'andiest place I could find for 'em. [Goes to 
them.] Just reach up for 'em — like that — see? 
[She puts them in the stand.] 

Earlsford. [Arms crossed and head lowered. 
Sincerely] Worse than that — worse than all else 
— ^you have offered an Insult to the inspirmg 
genius of this place ! 

93 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Lady M. [Immense surprise] I did — /f Why, 
I didn't see 'im. 

Earlsford. [Seriously] The gross insult — 
defiling that noble brow — with my hat ! 

Lady M. [Naively, but not flippantly.] Oh, 
that old boy — why, I thought 'e was the'at-rack! 
[She goes and stands on tiptoe to take the hat 
down. Earlsford zvatches her — standing a little 
to right of bust and front. She stands, the hat in 
her hands, left of it and at the base, looking up 
at it.] 

Earlsford. Poor, ignorant girl — know then, 
that He is the Master Artist, who moulded a 
mammoth figure, and called it Drama — breathed 
into it his soul, and gave it life ; put in its breast 
the passions of all humanity — into its mouth, words 
silver-toned and trumpet-tongued. He is the 
Titan of the Ages ! [Lady Margaret stands spell- 
bound, breathless^ as the splendid voice rings out 
the last zvords; then she says zvith low voiced in- 
tensity.] 

Lady M. Genius ! 

Earlsford. [Catches her zvord.] What? 

Lady M. [Stands dif from bust, as if in fear.] 
Is — is he really all those? 

Earlsford. [In tone of suppressed emotion.'] 
And now, go. I don't want you here another mo- 
ment — you have annoyed me to such an extent 
that I am thoroughly upset ! Now — go ! 

Lady M. [Almost in tears, hut still playing 
her part.] I won't deny to you soir, that hits 
pretty hard on a goyle (girl) to serve satisfac- 
tory to a man that's a ragin' lion one minute, an' 

94 



THE LION AND THE LADY. 

a great gen-i-us the next! [She curtcseys and 
y^oes out. He stands a moment, zvhcrc she left 
kink] 

Earlsford. Interesting! Perfectly virgin 
soil — no esthetic ideals — no experience — no con- 
ception of art — no conventional standpoint, and 
yet, she seems of better clay than most of her 
class — more intelligence, and all that — well, well, 
this mail must be opened. [Goes to desk and 
begins to poke about among things.] [Annoyed 
tone.] What's happened here? Nothing in place. 
I mean, everything in place. Some one has been 
cleaning up. [Calls] Dobbs — Dobbs. [Bangs 
hell] [Enter Lady Margaret.] 

Lady M. Did you ring, sir? 

Earlsford. I did. [Points to desk iv'fh shak- 
ing hand.] Who — who has dared to put my desk 
in order? 

Lady M. I did, sir. 

Earlsford. You did? Is there anything else 
you can do to annoy me ? If there is, I wish you 
v^ould get at it at once, so that I may hope for a 
little peace tomorrow ! 

Lady M, It needed cleanin' up, Lor' knows — 
it was a sight. 

Earlsford. [With nervous impatience.] I 
want it so — • I want it a sight! I wish you to 
know that no one — do you understand that — no 
one is to touch a paper or a blotter or a scrap on 
this desk, no matter what its condition! 

Lady M. [Forgets herself and bursts out] 
Good Heavens — how Ed hate to have to live with 
you! [Earlsford springs up, shouting.] 

95 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Earlsford. What ? 

Lady M. [As if terrified.] I said — I'll remem- 
ber, sir — soir ! 

Earlsford. [Aside] Ah, cockney accent an 
afterthought. [Turns and looks at her intently.] 

Lady AL [Nervously] Is that all, soir? 

Earlsford. [Amused smile.] Yes, you may 
go now — Peggy! [She goes out — he sits a mo- 
ment tapping desk zvith pen handle] Who is that 
girl like ? She's marvelously like some one, but I 
can't seem to think whom. [Opens letter and 
spreads it carefully out before him.] One sen- 
tence of perfect English, fairly flung at my head, 
and then a relapse into cockney again. [E.vpres- 
sion of surprise.] How stupid of me — why didn't 
I think of it before — this is some stage struck 
girl who is masquerading under my roof. Ah, ha, 
ho, ho — well, my lady, you'll earn your wages 
while you're here. Blockhead that I am, I might 
have known. [He takes the ink bottle, gets up 
and looks about, then smiles, goes to table, and 
pours ink into the empty decaliter on table. Then 
rings loudly, reseats himself and is busily writing 
when Lady Margaret enters.] 

Lady M. Well, what is it? 
Earlsford. Don't you know enough to fill the 
ink well when it's empty? 

Lady M. Empty? Why, it was full up this 
morning. 

Earlsford. Well, It's empty now. [Sternly] 
Fill it! [She goes out, and the minute she dis- 
appears he rings again.] 

Lady M. [Without] In a minute, soir. 

96 



THE LION AND THE LADY. 

Earlsford. Come at once when I ring ! [She 
enters hastily with bottle.] Get me a biscuit and 
a glass of sherry — I'm utterly exhausted! [She 
^hurries off and gets biscuit, goes front, pours 
out glass of ink from decanter , puts it beside him 
and exits. He laughs silently, unconsciously takes 
a sip of ink, then sputters and bangs bell. As she 
appearSy he shouts.] Water — water — you've given 
me poison ! [She dashes off and on with glass of 
water.] Where did you get that stuff? 

Lady M. There — Mrs. Dobbs said there was 
some left in the decanter. Was it sour, soir? 

Earlsford. It was. Go make me a cup of 
tea. [She goes out, and returns with tea things, 
which she places on table, then sinks into chair, 
with sigh.] 

Earlsford. [Smiling behind her back. Speaks 
sternly.] Servants do not sit in my study. 

Lady M. [With calmness of despair,] Well, 
I'm too tired to stand up! [He goes on writing, 
looking at her smilingly, nozu and then. She 
makes tea, banging things around.] 

Lady M. [Aside.] 1 wish I could make it out 
of vinegar! [Slams down cup.] 

Earlsford. [Sternly.] Don't be so noisy! 

Lady M. I'd just like to throw it at him! 
[Alaking feint zvith cup.] 

Earlsford. [Looking up.] Mrs. Dobbs is 
calling you. 

Lady M. Why, I didn't hear her. 

Earlsford. Well, I did. Hurry up, Peggy, 
and don't leave my tea to stand. [JVith a sigh 
she hurries out, and he immediately rings. She 

97 



DRAMATIC EPISODES, 

comes iru'] You are worse than the proverbial 
snail! Do you labor under the delusion that I 
want tepid tea? [She Hies hack to table, fusses 
with the things and drops into chair again. Pours 
out his tea for him.] 

Lady M. Here's your tea ! [He laughs quietly, 
comes front, takes it from her, and stands watch- 
ing her, while she unconsciously pours out a cup 
for herself, tastes it, then looks up and sees his 
amused smile. She chokes, coughs, puts cup 
dozvn hastily.'] 

Lady M. Oh— I forgot. 

Earlsford. Forgot what? 

Lady M. That I — I — H'excuse me, soir ! [He 
takes sip of tea, then breaks out tragically.] 
'' Tis burnt; [Another sip] and so is all the rest! 
What stuff is this? Where is the rascal cook? 
How durst you, villian, bring it from the dresser, 
And serve it thus to me, that love it not? 
There, take it to you, trenchers, cup, and all." 

Lady M. [Indignantly] Burnt? Why, it 'oint. 

Earlsford. [Continues] : 
"You heedless jolt head and unmannered slave. 

What, do you grumble? 
I tell thee it was burnt and dried away, 
And I expressly am forbid to touch it. 
For it engenders choler. planteth answer; 
And better 'twere that both of us did fast. 
Than feed us with such oversteeped leaves! 
Be patient — tomorrow it shall be mended 
And for this day we'll fast for company"! 

[He calmly takes her tea azvay.] 

Lady M. [Laughs] You — Petruccio! 

98 



THE LION AND THE LADY. 

Earlsford. You think I wouldn't make a good 
one? 

Lady M. [Springs up in alarm.] Is— is that 
all, soir? 

Earlsford. [Smiling] That's all— Peggy ! 
[She goes out door at left hurriedhiA Who is 
she like? That toss of the head— that profile. 
[Quick change of expression from deliberation- 
to delight.] No — no, it can't be; but yes, it is! 
Lady Margaret herself! Here, under my roof, 
and making sport of me ! And how I've made the 
poor woman dash about ! [Throivs back head and 
o'oars.] Paying me up for my wise words about 
the aristocratic lady, eh? [Rings.] I ring for 
Lady Margaret Mandeville to come to me! 
[Ladv Margaret enters and he greets her at door 
zuithlozv bow.] Pray, enter my sanctum, Lady 
Margaret. 

Lady M. [Comes front quickly.] [Aside.] He 
suspects me. Well, I'll play ///;;/ a scene, now. 
You wanted somethin', soir? 

Earlsford. Take this seat, the one nearest 
the shrine, you see. [Pointivig to the Shakespeare.] 

Lady M. [Looking scared.] Thank you, scir. 
[She subsides into chair indicated, and he stands 
before her.] 

Earlsford. If I had not been such a numb- 
skull I would have suspected your true identity 
before this, my most welcome guest. 

Lady M. Oh, soir, that's grand — go on ! 

Earlsford. [Earnestly] Shall we not throw 
aside this foolish jest? Surely we've played it 
out. Must there always be misunderstandings 

99 



LofC. 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

and mistakes between us? That first night, at 
Lady Warden's dinner, I'd no idea to whom I 
was speaking. I thought you were an American 
— the most beautiful, the most attractive woman I 
had ever met. It was only afterwards when I 
discovered who you w^ere, that I realized how 
utterly tactless my words must have seemed to 
you, Lady Margaret. 

Lady M. Now, wdiat do I do? Am I to play 
Lady Margaret? What do I say about this din- 
ner? 

Earlsford. I see — ^}^ou're punishing me. Say : 
*Toor, stupid man, I forgive vou." 

Lady M. Oh, is that all I say? I don't like 
to forgive and forget ladies. I'd rather be the 
adventurer ! 

Earlsford. Will you never cry quits to the 
adventure? What more would you have? You 
stalk the lion to his lair [Gesture including whole 
room.], you see him take food, you pull his hair, 
and rumple his mane, and make him roar — you 
even force him to chase you — then w-hen he has 
proved how^ strong he is, you get him in a corner 
and make him feel actually — foolish ! Will you 
please put the noose about my neck and lead me 
out? 

Lady M. Me? Oh, but I don't want a lion. 
I haven't any place to keep him. Besides, they're 
treacherous. 

Earlsford. [Smiles.] I've heard that tame 
ones were quite — affectionate. 

Lady M. [Promptly.] That settles it — I 
wouldn't have one that didn't roar all the time. 
100 



THE LION AND THE LADY, 

Let's pla}^ something else. I'm tired of the lion. 

Earlsfprd. [Earnestly.'] Do you believe, Lady 
Margaret, that great love can come in a moment, 
like lightning ? That in a flash a heart can know 
its master? 

Lady M. [Makes zveak iinal effort.] What — 
what play is that from, soir ? 

Earlsford. Play? It's not from a play, dear. 
It's the most earnest thing in my life. Ah, Mar- 
garet, all the love of all the heroes I have ever 
played is pent up inside of me for you — all the 
beautiful lines I've ever spoken, are struggling on 

my lips — and I can't say them [Voice of 

Dobbs heard off stage. Lady Margaret rises in 
alaniiy then runs back to door.] 

Lady M. [Af threshold.] Dobbs must be the 
call boy, for she's always callin'. [E.vit hastily 
left door.] 

Earlsford. [Indignantly.] Dobbs ordering her 

about — the idea ! We'll see [Starts for door, 

as it opens and she returns demurely enough.] 

Lady M. I've — I've been discharged! Dobbs 
says I'm the laziest hussy that she ever saw, and 
I'm to pack at once. Those are her very words ! 

Earlsford. Dobbs dared 

Lady M. She did. So — have you any or- 
ders before I go, soir? And what about me 
wages? An' will you recommend me? 

Earlsford. My orders are — first — sit in that 
chair. What will you accept as pay ? 

Lady M. What do you ofifer? 

Earlsford. [Seriously.] The little house here 
■ — Dobbs — some fair prospects, my Shakespeare, 

101 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

my heart's love — [Puts out his hands to her.] 
and myself! 

Lady M. I think — I'll act on another impulse 
and accept! [He takes her in his arms.] 

Earlsford. And you insist upon recommen- 
dations — sweetheart ? 

Lady M. Yes, as a Hon tamer! 

CURTAIN. 



102 



SUCCESS 



SUCCESS. 

A Play in One Act. 

CHAEACTEES. 

Mrs. St. Albans. 

Jerome Steever. 

Scene — Mrs. St. Alban's Garden. Time — noon. 

[Enter Jerome Steever, preceded by a servant. 
Steever is a man of thirty, of the student type — 
a man who was intended for an optimist, but 
warped by fate, or circumstances, into a grim 
humorist. He is conventional in dress, but shab- 
by. Not actually frayed — but of the zvcll-briished 
variety. ] 

Steever. Thank you, James. I will wait for 
Mrs. St. Albans here, then. [James goes out, and 
Steever comes a little unsteadily to a garden scat.^ 
I never would have believed that an empty stom- 
ach could knock a fellow out so. Why, it's 
beastly, the way we have to depend upon that 
miserable organ. Talk about the importance of 
the brain — it's nothing to the importance of the 
stomach! [He looks at the violets he carries.] 
You poor little flowers, do you realize that you are 
breakfast, lunch and yesterday's dinner? Well — 
you're too pretty to eat! [He sits doum and be- 
gins to take off his gloves.'] We'll get off one 
glove at least, so she won't see how mended Xhev 
are. They say Love is blind — [Inspects himself.] 
it's a pity she doesn't love me! [Mrs. St. Al- 

105 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

bans appears at the back of the garden. She 
stands looking at him a moment before she en- 
ters. She is a graceful, nxll-bred zvoman, of thirty, 
every detail of dress and bearing suggesting luxu- 
rious habits and surroundings.] 

]\Irs. St. Albaxs. So you've penetrated into 
my bower, have you, Mr. Jerome Steever? [He 
goes tozcard her, his face alight.] 

Steever. A fair good morn — my lady, and 
sweets to the sweet. [She smiles as she takes 
his hand, and the tlozvers.] 

Mrs. St. Albans. A dear little bunch of 
flowers, and a compliment — see how well I begin 
my day! 

Steever. Am I so early, then? 

Mrs. St. Albaxs. For the busy bee — no ; for 
the drones — yes. 

Steever. Don't speak of that hateful insect. 
I've always had a grudge against the busy bee. 

Mrs. St. Aldaxs. I think my simile was 
rather well chosen — for you and the bee are quite 
alike. [Smiling.] You know when you watch 
the bee, and he thinks you're watching him, he 
just hums and loafs along, as if he had no more 
interest in making honey, tlian he had — in — in 
you ! 

Steever. The bee and I act as if we had no 
interest in you, do we? What lusty liars! 

Mrs. St. Albans. And the bee works steadily, 
unwaveringly toward that end for which he was 
put into the world. The bee, m}^ friend, is really 
your brother — a seeker after success ! 

Steever. But the bee is destined before birth 

106 



SUCCESS. 

to succeed — but I . Well, if you're seeking^ 

out my relations — I should say that Failure might 
be called my twin sister! However, there's some 
distinction in failure, when attainment is so com- 
monplace. Success — it's the red ball — the play- 
thing of the multitude. 

Mrs. St. Albans. But you 

Steever. My dear lady, I was born to watch. 
I can't play the game or catch the ball. I never 
caught anything in my life! 

Mrs. St. Albans. What an intangible ele- 
ment it is, that brings attainment! Take two 
men with equal brains and equal chances — one 
slaves all his life and wins neither fame nor monev 
— the other, without effort, leaps into the verv 
midst of success ! Now, what is it — why can't 
we locate it, and give it a name? 

Steever. And kill at birth all the children 
who have it not. Simple — and what a stride for 
the world ! It would mean the Golden Age with 
a vengeance. 

Mrs. St. Albans. [Sriiilcs.] Write a play 
about it — and let your hero be the man who dis- 
covers the ingredients of success. Speaking of 
plavs, what have vou been doing since I saw you 
last? 

Steever. [Grimly.] I've been going from 
place to place like a literary tramp, trying to get 
managers to hear or read my play. They don't 
want plays — they have plays for years ahead — ■ 
they can't afford to experiment with a production 
by an almost unknown man. That's my story — 

107 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

my epitaph — ''Jerome Steever, ambitious play- 
wright — snubbed to death by frigid managers !" 

Mrs. St. Albans. There's no prospect then 
of 

Steever. Prospect — what on earth is that? I 
haven't had a prospect for so long that I don't 
know the definition of the word. [Mrs, St. Al- 
bans looks at him closely.] 

Mrs. St. Albans. Jerome, are you quite well ? 

Steever. Quite, thanks — why? 

Mrs. St. Albans. I was wondering if you 
could bear up under good news. 

Steever. Can't promise. The shock of nov- 
elty, you know 

Mrs. St. Albans. Henry Newman is going 
to hear your play tomorrow morning — at ten 
o'clock, at his office. 

Steever. [Quickly.] What? Newman — the 
Newman? Manager Newman? Ah — don't joke 
about it — I've quite lost my sense of humor ! 

Mrs. St. Albans. Joke, m.y dear friend — it's 
true. 

Steever. And you did this for me — I owe it 
to you? 

Mrs. St. Albans. [Hastily.] You owe me 
nothing — nothing 

Steever. I owe you nothing ! You, who have 
encouraged me, and believed in me, when no one 
else in the world did, you who have taught me 
to grow through defeat — ah — Louise — I can't 
tell you — I was right, you see, the shock was too 
great for me. [He turns from her and goes to- 
•ward the gate, his head bent.] 

108 



SUCCESS. 

Mrs. St. Albans. Jerome, you are so strong 
— ^and yet so weak! You poor, blind poet, you 
read hearts so badly. You dare, as few men dare 
to face the world and rate it at it's true value, 
and yet you fear it's paltriest convention — the 
dictum that a man may not ask a woman to love 
him, if he's poor. Dear poet, will you understand 
if I point out to you what I see ? [Steever turns 
and comes toward her smiling tenderly, ^\ 

Steever. I'll try. 

Mrs. St. Albans. Well, I see a long, uphill 
road — -and half way up, a woman climbing. I 
saw her first a headstrong, impulsive girl, setting 
out alone, with a jewel-case of ideals. She was 
full of the courage of youth — she thought she 
could kick aside the boulders on the road. Poor, 
foolish child — the rocks were so firm, and she 
only stumbled on them, and cut herself and fell. 
But she struggled along, undaunted, clinging to 
her ideals, until she's half way up ! There's a 
man on the road, a good wa}- ahead of the wo- 
man. He's bruised and torn, but his shoulders 
are squared, and his head held high, and always 
as he goes he looks back toward her. If he would 
only wait for her a minute — if she dared to cry 
out to him, they might climb on, over the rocks, 
hand in hand, helping each other. But now — now. 
Life's best gift — happiness — is slipping through 
their outstretched fingers, because the strong man 
is a coward, and proud, and the woman — the gar- 
rulous woman is silent! 

Steever. But the rocks he falls on, she might 
have avoided. Would you have him add to her 

109 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

stumbling blocks, when he longs so to take her in 
his arms and carry her over them all ? No — no — ■ 
[Desperately.] Louise, it's taking all his strength 
to go on — alone ! 

]\Irs. St. Albans. Jerome, did you ever hear 
the fable of the faint heart? 

Steever. Yes, and the fable of the frog that 
tried to win the lark with his song! When I can 
sing — when I've w^on success with my song — then 

dear — then May I come tomorrov/ after I've 

seen Mr. Newman? 

Mrs. St. Albans. Of course — I shall be all 
anxiety. Good — good luck, Jerome. [He takes 
her hands a moment, looking dozen at her, then 
goes hastily. She watches him out of her sight, 
then smiles tenderly.'] Poor, tired frog — poor, 
struggling lark ! 

SCENE II. 

Setting. Steever s room, bare and dark, save 
for a light from without, zvhich shines through 
the windozv at back. Steever, haggard and ema- 
ciated, staggers slowly from the table to the 
zvindow, and slozvly drazus the curtain. 

Steever. Night again — -night. Only twelve 
hours since I drew the curtain back at daw^n — 
twelve days — twelve years! [He gets a candle 
and lights it.] We must light the banquet hall — 
and make ready for our guest. Our only guest — 
Hunger. [He sits dozvn at the fable, his head in 
his hands.] Oh, this agony of lumbering time — 
with nothing to mark It's going but night and day. 

110 



SUCCESS. 

[Laughs huskily.] I suppose that's why we eat — 
to mark time. After breakfast — after lunch — after 
dinner. It's all foolishness — if you let your stom- 
ach alone, it's all right — it's beastly to eat all the 
time ! If you think a good meal — it's almost as 
good as eating it. Roast beef — roast beef! I won- 
der how long a man can live on meals he eats 
with his mind, instead of his mouth. I'm a fool 
— a great fool — but I can't beg for bread ! "The 
strong man was a coward — and proud!" I won- 
der what day it is? Newman said he'd send me 
his decision in a week. He said it as if he were 
talking of the weather. He was saying: "In a 
week, I'll decide your fate for you!" A week? 
It's been months — he must have decided and for- 
gotten me. And Louise, what is she thinking of 
me? I wanted to wait and take my triumph to 
her — besides I couldn't bear to have her find out 
that I was half starved. But ah — she comes to 
me ! When I look back — she's there — when I 
look up, she's smiling at me — -when I wake, she's 
standing with her hand on my hair. Dreams — 
dreams, — the dreams of the dusk — they are 
worth all the white light visions of the noon! 
When Newman sends me his answer — success or 
failure — either way — I'll go to her and say: 
"Louise — Louise= — ■ — " [A tap at the door, but 
he does not hear it. He summons his strength 
and gets up, holding to the table.] "Louise— I 

love you — I " [He sinks back again, his 

head on his arms. Mrs. St. Albans enters. She 

stops for one allcomprehending moment, then goes 

111 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

to the prostrate figure, and takes his head in her 
arms. ] 

Mrs. St. Alban. Jerome — Jerome 

[Steever looks up z'ocantly at her and smiles.] 

Steever. Ah, yes — you're here again. You've 
come again. But you'll go way again presently 
— you'll go away. 

Mrs. St. Albans. No — not if you want me to 
stay. 

Steever. Sweet spirit — if I want you to stay. 
I want you always — always, but you fade so soon. 
If I speak to you, if I put out my hand to touch 
you — you are gone! [Mrs. St. Albans takes his 
hands.] 

Mrs. St. Albans. See, dear, touch me — I'm 
quite real. I'm here beside you. Think of all 
these long days I've watched and waited for you, 
and here, you've been needing me all the time. I 
sent for you twice, but the people down stairs 
told my messenger that you had gone away. But 
to-night — I made up my mind I would com.e my- 
self. Ah, JeromiC — Jerome, couldn't you trust me, 
dear? [He leans his head against her in silence 
for a moment, still unconvinced of her reality.] 
Jerome — 

Steever. [Starting up.] Eh — what is it? 

Mrs. St. Albans. Do you know why I'm 
here? Listen — do you hear me? [Steever nods 
faintly.] I made Mr. Newman let me come with 
his decision. I went to him when I couldn't find 
you, and asked him about the play. He told me 
that he had read it to critics, and actors — and how 
they all raved over it. He told me — Oh, never 

112 



SUCCESS. 

mind what, dear — only this — iVe come with your 
success! [Seever straightens up, laughing 
strangely.] 

Steever. Success! Success! Don*t say that 
word to me — don't speak it. Listen! [He gets 
onto his feet zvith difficulty.'] Way back, when 
I ought to have been a child, I was lay- 
ing the foundation of a life's ambition. I 
struggled and worked, and at last I tasted 
a little success. That first poor little play 
was the blessed chance that brought you to me, 
sweet spirit^ — but you can't live on fame — it isn't 
as satisfying as love. And the first play brought 
so little money — and a man must have more than 
a soul — to win — he must have a good coat ! 

Mrs. St. Albans. Oh, Jerome — don't — don't ! 
[He sweeps on, scarcely noticing her, gaining de- 
lirious strength.] 

Steever. I worked — God knows I worked — 
but I was hungry a good deal of the time, my 
brain wouldn't act — and the managers began to 
laugh at me. They said that first play was luck — 
I'd lost my grip — they advised me to take a rest. 
Then I settled down to the last effort — -the play 
Newman has now. I was starving, yes, starv- 
ing. It was flesh and blood, and heart and soul 
that went into that play. It was my last throw, 
Louise, that play was the outstretched hand of a 
drowning man — the hand that clutched at suc- 
cess to wring it out of the world. 

Mrs. St. Albans. The end of the struggle 
has come, dear heart — and you have won. Oh, 
my dear, my dear — your want and my plenty — or 

113 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

perhaps it has been — your plenty and my want. 
Ever since that day you came into my Hfe, I've 
been waiting to give you all I had, but you 
wouldn't ask for your own, Jerome. And now, 
that the world offers you success — 

Steever. [Seriously.] Success — ah, that word ! 
For years it has been my food, my drink — my 
life — my God ! Wherever I go, asleep or awake, 
it is always before me. The crowd offers it to 
me — you Louise, you bring it to me, and I turn 
to lay it at your feet. It is burned in letters of fire 
on my brain^ — -and now it's come — now it's come. — 
[Puts out his hand as if to szveep azvay a cur- 
tain.] Louise — ^where are you? I can't see you. 
[Terror.] Help me, Louise — help me fight off 
this blindness, this white mist ! Success — it's come 
— but — but — mv God, Louise — it's come too late ! 
[He sinks back, limply in her arms, and Airs. St. 
Albans zvithont a cry, kneels beside him, gather- 
ing him in her arms, as a mother does a child, who 
sleeps.] 

CURTAIN. 



114 



LADY BETTY'S BURGLAR 



LADY BETTY'S BURGLAR. 
A Colonial Play in One Act. 

CHAEACTEES. 

Lady Betty Lovejoy, a romantic young tMng of a 
scant number of summers. 

Sir Pereival Haswell, a swashbuckling youngster. 

A Burglar. 

Scene — Lady Betty's boudoir. There is a large 
double window at the back and a door at either side 
of the room, one at right leading into Lady Betty's 
bed-room, the one at the left leading into the other 
part of the house. 

Lady Betty, in an altogether attractive neglige 
gown, is stretched out full length on the couch, a 
hook open before her. She looks straight into 
the distance, lost in thought. Finally she glances 
at the hook. 

Lady B. Why — why — the book is up side 
down. [She turns the hook over, and looks at it 
a moment, then closes it zmth a snap.] What do 
I care about the noble Sir Tristam ? What is it to 
me if he wins his fair lady or not? I've my own 
troubles to fret about. Besides, it always comes 
out all right in books, the knight kills the ban- 
dits and the robbers, and wins the lady — and the}^ 
live happily ever after. There aren't any bandits 
or robbers any more. — [She sighs deeply. A 
masked man climbs silently thro* window at hack, 
and begins picking up things oft of dressing- 
table, putting them into black hag. He keeps his 

117 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

eye on Lady B, zcJio continues:] The way things 
really happen, is quite different. Some horrid 
man wins your heart right out of your keeping, 
and then does some awful thing to prove how un- 
worthy he is. That's what Percy Haswell did — 
but he'll never know from me that my heart is in 
his keeping. I'll never speak to him again — I 
won't. When he knew how I detested that Flora 
McNare — that he should fetch her to the ball! 
And then he had the impertinence to say that he 
only brought her, because I was going with Sir 
Willoughby. As if it weren't a very different 
thing for me to go with Sir Willoughby, and for 
him to come with that — Oh, men are such wicked, 
fickle, hateful things ! [SJic buries her head in 
sofa cushion. Burglar snatches things hastily. She 
sits up suddenly and he Hies back of screen.] He 
said I was a coquette — that I didn't care for him 
in the least. I said he'd better go back to his 
Lady Flora — since she cared so much. . . as 
far as I was concerned he might go forever ! I 
just said that — but I didn't mean it. "Am I to 
consider that a dismissal, Lady Betty?" said he. 
*Tray consider it what you like, Sir Percival !" 
said L And he marched off — and that was two 
months ago — it seems tvro years. [She gets tip 
slo-tvly, and picks up book.] ]\Iother says that 
gossip has it that Percy is drinking himself to 
death. [Sadly.] I wish I could forget about him. 
[Firmly.] I shall forget. I shall go to bed this 
minute and forget ! [Marches off right. As soon 
as she disappears, burglar creeps from behind 
screen. He conies center. Sound of laughter 
lis 



LADY BETTY'S BURGLAR. 

heard zinthout, he runs behind screen again, as a 
second masked man enters by window. He is like 
burglar in general effect. He is slightly intoxi- 
cated,] 

Sir p. [Leaning out zvindow.] Away with 
you. Fm well in, and safely. At the Red Dog 
at twelve, I'll claim my wager. Adieu — [Kisses 
his Angers to them unsteadily.] 

Voice Without. If thou should'st need help, 
Sir Lover, but whistle and we'll come to thee ! 

Sir p. Away with ye — ye noisy roisterers, ye'U 
alarm the lady! [Laughter disappears into dis- 
tance, and Sir P. comes unsteadily forward.] Ah — 
ha — here we are. Safely arrived in the lady's 
boudoir, and the wager all but mine! [Comes to 
couch, looking about hint closely.] The lady's 
boudoir. [Puts hand to his brozv.] It's Betty's 
boudoir — Betty's! [Looks vacantly about.] What 
am I doing here? Oh — yes, the wager. My for- 
tune to a pound that I could beg — win — or steal 
a kiss from the haughty Lady Betty before mid- 
night. And all to silence that knave Harry Bland, 
who twitted me for a love-sick swain, who had 
been played with by a coquette, and cast aside like 
a torn glove ! E — gad — I'll show the rake — [Picks 
up little handkerchief from couch, and puts it to 
his face. It brings him to his senses.] What am I 
doing here? What right have I to be here? I'll go 
— 'I'll go at once. [Kisses handkerchief and puts it 
hack on couch.] I'm not fit to touch thy least be- 
longing — Betty — sweetheart! [Voice from adjoin- 
ing room is heard. He drops behind couch, as Lady 

119 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

B. enters. She sits at dressing table, and rumples 
lip her hair.] 

Lady B. Oh — ho — I'm weary to-night. Ah — 
Percy — Percy, why did you teach me to care. 
, [Sir P. tries to crazvl to door at left, and as he 
rises to go out door, she sees him through the 
mirror. He is as alarmed as she is, and stands 
hypnotized. As if to herself.] Is there a man 
standing by that door? [He laughs, then drazvs 
two huge pistols, and points them at her.] 

Sir P. [Quizzically.] Scream — and Til shoot! 

Lady B. Oh, thou art a man. I mean thou art 
a coward in man's guise. What dost thou here, 
there's naught for thee. 

Sir p. [Signi^cantly.] They told me this was 
the jezvel case. 

Lady B. Who told thee that? 'Tis false. 
There's no case here — nor jewel either! 

Sir p. Thv modesty is equal to thv courage, 
Lady Betty. 

Lady B. Oh ho — so thou know'st my name ? 

Sir p. We — we — we always discover first the 
name of our — 

Lady B. Victim ! 

Sir p. Patron. 

Lady B. Well, what dost thou want of me ? 

Sir p. [Starts tozvard her.] If I might tell 
thee. It's such a little thing and yet — so dear ! 

Lady B. I know — 'tis my clothes, and my 
money, and all my treasures — [Childishly.] Put 
down those things [Pointing to pistols.] Is it a 
habit of thine to stand all night pointing them so ? 
[He laughs and puts them in his belt.] Stand on 

120 



LADY BETTY'S BURGLAR. 

that same spot and I'll bring my treasures to 
thee. 

Sir p. [Points pistols again.] Stop — thou 
shalt not pass that door. 

Lady B. Dost thou dare say shalt not to me ? 

Sir p. Lady Betty Lovejoy, I am thy master 
for this minute. Once, if never again, thou shalt 
obey me ! 

Lady B. [Aside.] That voice! I wonder if it 
could be — Ruffian — thou shalt answer to no less 
a swordsman than Sir Percival Haswell, for this 
insult! [Sir P. starts.] [Aside.] Ah — ha — Sir 
Percy! [To Sir P.] Aly treasures are in that 
room. 

Sir p. Get them. I'll follow thee. 

Lady B. Stand at the door, if thou wilt. My 
word, I will not run away. [She goes out door 
at right. He starts for door at left,] 

Sir p. Here's my chance. I'll be off before — 
[As he gets to threshold, she appears.] 

Lady B. Gads — zooks — Sir Robber, I never 
thought to make thee svv^ear thou would'st not 
run away. Come, here they are — [She sighs, and 
leads zvay to couch, box in her arms. She sits in 
couch, he stands beside her, looking for chance to 
escape.] Thou should'st take off thy mask to see 
them well. No? I care not, though I'd like to see 
thy face. I've never had a real live robber call 
before. [She holds the things up before her. 
Sigh.] A heart which Sir Willoughby gave me. 
He said like his own, it had not much value — save 
this, that both were mine ! [Sir P. crosses arms 
and taps floor angrily zvith foot.] Would'st ex- 

121 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

amine it? [He shakes head.] A string of pearls 
from Master Jack Stornway, a brave lad, and a 
bonny. He said — ''Mistress Betty — t'is a lover's 
rosary — each pearl a vow." Dear Jack Stornway! 
[Sir P/s indignution increases.^ A rose from 
Count Frisetti — that went with a tale of ardent — 
forgive this trifling. Another heart. A man's 
glove — that meant a duel. Sir Robber, and all for 
me. A ring — another ring — a letter — 

Sir p. [Quickly.] Give it me. 

Lady B. [Looking up at him.] Thou'rt a 
strange robber ! IMore interested in a love letter to 
an unknown maid, than in pearls, two rings, and 
three hearts. If it wasn't for those pistols — I 
wouldn't read it thee. [Reads rapidly, ivithoiit 
paitsc, or expression.] "My best beloved: Last 
night when thou did'st come into the ball room, 
with my roses at thy belt, my roses in thy hair, 
my heart almost burst with delight. Ah — sweet — 

Sir p. [Snorts.] That wdll do. 

Lady Betty. I feared t'would bore thee. 
[Aside.] It did me! There are other letters, and 
that's all — quite all — see for thyself. [Holds tip 
box.] Now, art thou satisfied? Thou hast all my 
treasures. [Gets up and walks to table, turning 
her back on him.] Take them quickly, and be off! 
[She turns presently and he stands where she left 
him.] What — not gone yet? 

Sir p. Lady Betty — would'st thou buy them 
all back again? 

Lady B. I'm to buy my own again, am I ? 

122 



LADY BETTY'S BURGLAR. 

Sir p. Listen — I came to steal — -but I sta}^ to 
beg. 

Lady B. T'is a pity to change the role — I 
liked thee better as the robber. 

Sir p. Take back th}^ treasures, and give me 
instead one little kiss ! 

Lady B. I — faith — sir, robbers are a strange 
lot! Why shoiild'st wish to kiss an unknown wo- 
man? 

Sir p. Because — thou — thou art like one I 
loved. 

Lady B. And lost — Fll warrant thee. Did'st 
woo her kisses as thou dost mine — with thine 
arms? [Points to zveapons.] 

Sir p. Ah, I loved her with all my heart — 
but she jilted me for a popinjay — a bragging — 
but why should I tell thee this? Lady, thou art 
like my love. 

Lady B. I see. Thou would'st have this kiss 
for its reminiscential possibilities. It would seem 
a harmless kindness to do a poor man. 

Sir p. If thou did'st but know — ' 

Lady B. If I do this thing — wilt go at once 
and leave me? 

Sir p. 'Pon my honor, yes. 

Lady B. There is honor among thieves then? 
And if I will not? 

Sir p. Then by Heaven, I'll make thee ! 

Lady B. Ah — now thou art the robber again, 
and not the beggar! Well, I'll make a virtue of 
necessit}' — but I'll do the thing my own way. Mas- 
ter Robber. Stand there. [She points to place at 

123 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

center. He takes position.] Off with thy coat. [He 
throzi's it on coiich.]Fut thy hands behind thee, 
so. Now — art ready? [She z^'alks to him slozdy, 
looking in his eyes. He bends tozuard her, and 
quick as a zcink she seizes the pistols and levels 
them at his head.] Scream — and Fll shoot! 

Sir p. [Angrily.] Vixen ! 

Lady B. Stand where thou art, sir. I don't 
wonder that thou art fond of these friends — they 
give one such a feehng of superiority ! [She ex- 
amines pistols, and he starts for door. She inter- 
cepts him.] 

Lady B. Stop — thou shalt not pass that door. 
Now, take off thy mask. 

Sir p. Shoot me, and I'll not unmask. 

Lady B. I — faith, thou art a modest man — • 
hast thou a big nose, or is't an ugly mouth ? Well, 
for the once, L'll humor thee. Toward my dress- 
ing table — march — sir. [He backs tozmr'd dress- 
ing table, looking about for means of escape.] 
Keep thine eyes fixed on me, sir. Faith — 'tis a sad 
thing to have to threaten a man with death to 
make him look at thee ! [ When she gets to table, 
she puts dozvn one pistol, but keeps the other lev- 
eled. She scoops out handful of ribbons, scarfs, 
and ties, tucks them under her arm, picks up pis- 
tol, and marches him tozvard chair dozvn front.] 
March — sir — march. We should have a band to 
pla}' — "Lo — the conquering Heroine Comes." 
[She moves chair to center.] Now — sit down. 
[He sits, and she drops on knees behind him, 
tying him to the chair zvith the ribbons and ties, 
talking as she zvorks and peeking at him.] It 

124 



LADY BETTY'S BURGLAK. 

must be humiliating for a high class robber like 
thyself to be tied up like this, but it must be 
done. I'm afraid to leave thee while I go for help. 
[He jumps tip as she says help, but she yanks 
him back and boxes him.] Sit still — don't jump 
like that. How dost thou expect me to tie thee? 
. . . Robbing is a strange profession for thee 
to choose. Hast been a robber long ? 

Sir p. Not long.' [She laughs behind his 
back.] 

Lady B. Oh — -ho — thou'rt a new one? Well, 
it certainly is not thy forte. Of course I don't 
want to preach to thee, now that thou art tied, 
but I feel that thou'rt making a mistake. Of 
course, I can see thou art a very common man — 
thy hands tell me that — and thou hast an ugly 
mouth, and a wicked chin — [Laughs softly.] but 
if thou'llt promise me to reform, I might find 
thee employment of a lowlv but honest kind ! 

Sir p. I vv^ant none of thy help. 

Lady B. Thou hast an ugly temper too. Well, 
if thou wilt not promise to reform, I suppose I 
must go call help. [She stands in front of him.] 
I hope thou'rt quite comfortable, Master Robber. 
. . . Oh, I forgot, in books they always gag 
a robber. [Runs to dressing table and comes back 
zvith handkerchiefs.] Open thy ugly mouth, sir. 
Must I speak twice? [Tries to open his mouth — 
he kisses her hand.] Sir — obey me ! [She puts pis- ' 
tol to his head, and he opens mouth. She crams 
in handkerchief.] More room? E — gad, what a 
receptacle. I marvel thou did'st not carry off my 
candle-sticks in thy mouth ! [She nms off laugh- 

125 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

ing, taking pistols zvith her. Sir P. shakes hand- 
kerchiefs out of his mouth.] 

Sir p. Vixen ! I'll warrant she suspects me, 
and unless I escape she's bound to find me out. 
[Struggles zvith hands.] She's got me tight 
enough with her furbelows. [Strnggles in vain, 
finally gets down on hands and knees, and tries 
again. Then gets up and zvalks to door at left, 
chair tied to him. As soon as he is out, the real 
robber appears from behind screen, blozvs out 
candelabra, puts Lady B.'s treasures in bag, and 
starts for zvindozv. Voice heard zvithout — he 
sei:;es chair by table, kicks handkerchiefs under it, 
sits in chair, head on breast, as Lady B. appears. 
She skips dozvn front and stands before him, 
hands behind her, zvith pistols in them.] 

Lady B. Asleep, Master Rogue — or only dis- 
consolate because thy captor deserted thee ? Dost 
grasp thy good fortune, sirrah, in having so en- 
tertaining a jailor? [No reply from robber.] Oh, 
I see — dreaming of the one thou lovest and lost. 
Tell me, Robber, was she fair or dark? Surly 
knave, hast lost thy tongue? Oh, poor, poor man, 
thou'rt gagged. Open thy mouth and I'll fish the 
kerchiefs out. [Robber shakes head znolently.] 
Dost thou refuse to obey thy jailor's orders? Hast 
forgot the touch of cold steel? Open thy aper- 
ture of a mouth, sir, or I'll make thee a new one ! 
[Points pistol at his month, and he opens it zvide.] 
But they're all gone — where are they — didst 
swallow them? [He nods violently.] Thou greedy 
glutton — two real lace handkerchiefs at a mouth- 
ful. [Looks at him in concern.] Dost feel badly? 

12G 



LADY BETTY'S BURGLAR. 

[He nods.'] Speak, man, speak, art dumb? I'd 
better have sent for a doctor, with all that linen 
in thy insides. [Robber starts, moves chair, and 
discloses handkerchiefs. She drops on knees and 
■fishes them out.'] Oh — ho — thou'rt a liar too. 
I've a notion to shoot thee here and now. 
[Quickly.] But — how dids't thou get them there 
when thou'rt tied? 

Robber. With my teeth. 

Lady B. Thy teeth? Truly, that's a marvelous 
mouth of thine! [She goes and sits on arm of 
couch and looks at him.] Well, thou art a liar, a 
robber and a thief — and I shall give thee up to 
justice, and yet, thou art a man — thou hast loved 
— who knows what brought thee to this — who'll be 
thy judge? [6'/"^/?^.] Well, not I. [She comes 
and stands in front of him.] Perchance thou 
mayst be gentler to thy next victim, remembering 
one who was gentle to thee. See, I give thee what 
thou didst beg me for— -before they take thee 
away. [She kisses his cheek. He starts tip, and 
she points pistols at him, holding one by the mus- 
de. Enter at left Sir P. still struggling zvith chair. 
Comes front.] 

Sir p. Lady Betty — I'm at thy mercy. I've 
struggled in vain with this infernal chair of thine. 
Thy hands, like thine eyes, bind me fast ! [Lady 
B. looks from one to other, levels pistol at each 
and screams.] 

Lady Betty. Oh — dear — Oh dear — two of 
them« — help — 

Sir P. [Angrily.] Who art thou, sir? 

127 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Robber. That's my business. 

Sir p. E — gad, sir, then Fll make it mine. 
What mean }ou by thrusting yourself into this 
lady's boudoir? 

Robber. I m.ean the same as thou ! 

Lady B. Who art thou, pray, to constitute thy- 
self my protector? 

Sir p. I am one who wishes thee well. 

Lady B. I care not for anonymous knights. 
[Goes to him, and unmasks him.] Sir Percival 
Haswell I So thou hast selected a profession at 
last? I congratulate thee. 

Sir P. I selected a profession long ago — *twas 
love. But, come, let's settle with this knave. Untie 
me. 

Lady B. I see no reason to untie thee. Two 
knaves enter my boudoir, one can turn a pretty 
speech — and the other cannot. Well, both are 
knaves, and both my prisoners. 

Sir p. Might I suggest then that thou turnst 
thy pistol t'other way round, if it should go off 
'twould spoil thy triumph. 

Lady B. [Turns it hastily.] I need not thy 
directions, sir. Sit down. [She motions, and he 
drops on his chair, at left.] And thou— there — 
[Points to chair. Robber sits. She stands be- 
fzveen them. Gravely.] Of course it is the duty 
of every citizen to hand over to justice offenders 
against the lav/. It is very painful to me to have 
to be an instrument of justice — [Both fuen start 
up. She levels pistols, they drop.] But I hold 
the pistols ! Before I call the guard, hast anything 
to sav, sirrah?. 

128 



LADY BETTY'S BURGLAR, 

Robber. The jig's up. Call 'em in, Lady. It's 
good day to you, Lady — will you kiss me again? 

Sir P. [Starts up.] Again? Did'st kiss that 
ugly brute ? 

Lady B. [Brandishes pistol at hitn.] Down, 
sir, and wait thy turn to speak. I kissed the rob- 
ber — because — because I wanted to. Now, what 
hast thou to say ? 

Sir p. Lady Betty — I did not come here to rob 
you — but — 

Lady B. Ah, so thou wouldst make excuse. 
[To Robber.] Master Robber, thy blood may not 
run so pure and blue as that in this gentleman's 
veins, thy scutcheon may not be so fair, but by 
me faith, I like thy spirit better. Go — thou art 
free — but thou, Sir Percy — -shalt answer for this. 
[Robber gets tip, looking front one to other.] 

Robber. I'm to go free, Lady? [She nods, 
and points to zvindozv.] Good-bye, Mistress, and 
thankee for the kiss. [Sir P, starts up, then sinks 
back, at her gesture. Robber goes out of zvindozv, 
Betty zvatching him. Then she faces Sir P.] 

Lady B. [Sternly.] Sir Percy, thou'rt my 
prisoner ! [He comes toward her, chair zvobbling 
after him.] 

Sir p. A}-e — sweet lady, now and always. 
Never a minute since I set eyes on thee — 

Lady B. [Laughs.] Do — do sit down — thou'rt 
so funny, with thy hump. [He sits on his chair, 
and she unties him. He leans his head against 
her, looking up at her.] As thou did'st say, the 
real robber was m.ore gentleman than I — I can 
never do penance for my presumption — but I was 

129 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

not myself, Betty — I've never been myself since 
that night — Ah, dear — [He rises and takes her 
hands.] Thou dost make my dark and sunshine, 
and I've been in the dark so long, Sweet — let me 
stay on here, in the light — loving thee! 

Lady B. [Sternly.] Master Robber — how 
dare you, sir? Sit there! [He sighs and sits 
dozvn. ] 

Sir p. The same chair of execution — thou art 
a stern judge — thou must have justice! [She 
stands behind him smiling.] 

Lady B. Aye, Sir Percival, justice to the last 
drop. Thou art a robber, a bandit — a highway- 
man — a sneak — 'thief — [He starts, then drops 
back, dejectedly. She throzvs both arms about his 
neck suddenly.] And thou art my prisoner! [She 
has a pistol in either hand, uliich she crosses 
under his chin.] 

CURTAIN. 



130 



DINNER— WITH COMPLICA- 
TIONS 



A DINNER— WITH COMPLICATIONS. 

A DRAMATIC EPISODE IN ONE ACT. 
CHAEACTEES. 

Professor James Carton. 

Mrs. Carton (Margaret). 

Elenor Haskins (their guest). 

Peggy Ball (schoolmate of Elenor). 

Dr. Eiehard Henry Waterbiiry Landis, M. D. 

Dr. Eobert Landis (nerve specialist). 
Scene — Carton 's drawing-room. 
Time — late afternoon. 

[Peggy Ball in street costume is discovered. 
Enter Elenor.] 

Elenor. Peggy — Peggy Ball — is it really you ? 
[Embraces her rapturously.] You dear,nice, funny 
little thing, it does me good to see you. Why — 
it's been years ! [Another hug.] 

Peggy. [Straightening her hat.] It has been 
two whole years. But you haven't changed a bit 
— except to grow beauti fuller ! 

Elenor. You goose ! 

Peggy. How long have you been here, and 
how long are you going to stay, and is Mrs. Car- 
ton at home? 

Elenor. IVe been here a week and I'm stay- 
ing a month, and I'm sad to say Margaret is not 
at home. Now — come over here and tell me everv 
single thing that's happened since we left school. 
[She drags her to couch, where they sit facing 
each other.] 

133 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Peggy. My dear, it would take years to tell it. 

Elenor. Well, skip through. What have you 
done with yourself? 

Peggy. [Solemnly.^ I've grown up. 

Elenor. You? Nonsense — you'll always be 
''Little Peggy, Pretty Peggy, Baby Pegg\' Ball!'' 
Do you remember our comic opera ? 

Peggy. Well, rather. Oh, didn't we have 
fun ? You never do appreciate school till you get 
to be an old lady like me. 

Elenor. [Eaughs.'] What about the girls — 
do you ever hear from Martha? 

Peggy. Yes, she's to be married this month, 
and it's breaking my heart into little pink bits 
that I can't go out west and be a bridesmaid. Did 
you hear about Tootsie's twins ? 

Elenor. Twins? Tootsie Tarbell? Ye Gods 
— 'what next ? 

Peggy. Yes, my dear, a boy and a girl — isn't 
it howling? And Harriet's the head of a Girls' 
School ! That nearly kills me ! 

Elenor. Yes, isn't that choice ? How the poor 
girls must toe the mark ! 

Peggy. Of course, she was such a terror her- 
self, she knows all the ropes. But what about 
you, Nell? 

Elenor. Me ? Oh. I'm a creature of no pro- 
fession — nor calling. I'm a useless ne'er-do-well 
— a butterfly effect in brown. 

Peggy. You fraud! I know^ all about your 
settlement work, and — 

Elenor. That's no work — and one must fill 
up time somehow. But how about vourself, Peg- 

134 



A DINNER— WITH COMPLICATIONS, 

g y — have you leanings toward a career ? [^^^'^3^ 
nods,'] I knew it — there isn't a girl in the old 
crowd except me that hasn't done something ele- 
vating with herself. What line have you picked 
out, Peggums ? 

Peggy. Matrimony ! 

Elenor. No. Who is he, and when is it to be, 
and are you happy ? 

Peggy. Happy? I'm so happy I could throw 
myself away ! 

Elenor. Perhaps you have? 

Peggy. Elenor! Why, he's worlds too good 
for me, and Fm the luckiest thing to get him ! 
Elenor — 'Vou must marr>' — it's the only thing to 
do. 

Elenor. Agreed — what victim do you sug- 
gest? Seriously, though, Peg, who is the lucky 
man ? 

Peggy. Well, he's a young doctor with a 
promising practice, and we're to live here, and 
he's — Oh — you've just got to meet him, and 
then you can see for yourself. 

Elenor. [Promptly.'] There's no time like 
the present — call him up and ask him to join 
you here and take dinner with us. 

Peggy. But, my dear, I've never even met 
Mrs. Carton. 

Elenor. Oh, that doesn't matter. I'm so at 
home here, I do just as I like. Margaret will be 
delighted to have you. Come on, here's the 
phone — you do the rest. 

Peggy. I'd love to. I just adore showing him 
off. {She goes to telephone, on table, and takes 

135 



DRAMATIC EPISODES, 

up receiver.] Central 330, please — no — 330. 
[To Elenor.] What about clothes? I'm not 
dressed for dining out. 

Elenor. Oh — that's all right — ^there won't be 
a soul here but the family. 

Peggy. Hello — is Dr. Landis — Oh — is that 
you, dear? This is — me. Why, I'm at Mrs. 
Carton's on Liberty street, with Elenor Haskins. 
Yes, she's the one — [To Elenor.] He knows 
all about you. . . . Well, listen, we want you 
to meet me here and have dinner. Oh, do, I so 
want you to know Elenor. Never mind that, she 
says only the family will be here, and I'm in 
street clothes, too, so come right from the office. 
About six forty-five ? All right. [Rings off, and 
turns to Elenor.] Isn't that fine? You're sure 
Mrs. Carton hasn't any other plans? 

Elenor. Quite. She's been shopping all 
afternoon, and we are to stay quietly at home to- 
night. Professor Carton has some old scientific 
convention on for two or three days, and he comes 
home tired and cross as a bear, so we are doing 
our going by day. 

Peggy. Well, it's just too sweet. But I tell 
you, dear, what I think I'll do. It's only a little 
after five, and I believe I'll run around and see 
Edith Banks, while I'm in the neighborhood. 
She's near, isn't she? 

Elenor. Yes, just a block away. 

Peggy. Then I'll be back by six, and v/e'll 
have a nice long visit. 

Elenor. All right, Peggums, but don't be late. 

136 



A DINNER— WITH COMPLICATIONS. 

By the bye, you haven't told me the name of the 
only man on earth — suppose he comes first. 

Peggy. How stupid of me. His name is Rich- 
ard Henry Waterbury Landis, M. D. ! 

Elenor. Gracious ! 

Peggy. Think of my being hitched up to all 
that ! Well, I'm off till six, then. [She goes out.] 

Elenor. Same old irresponsible Peggy — child. 
Think of her being married to a doctor. Mrs. 
Richard Henry Waterbury Landis, M. D. ! [She 
laughs, and starts into other room, zvhen street 
door opens, and Mrs. Carton staggers in, loaded 
with bundles.] Oh, hello — Margaret — you back? 

Mrs. Carton. What there is left of me is 
back. [Sinks info ehair.] "Every suburbanite 
his own deliverer!" [Lets bundles roll about her.] 

Elenor. Why, what's the matter? 

Mrs. Carton. I've got bargain prostration, 
that's all. I've spent five hours fighting and push- 
ing and scratching to get up to counters and pay 
good money for stuff I don't vs'ant. I've worked 
as hard as any man who scaled San Juan Hill, 
and now, just as I get to my own door, I sud- 
denly remember that I haven't ordered a thing for 
dinner. 

Elenor. Margaret ! 

Mrs. Carton. My dear, Vm callous to your 
sufferings. Thank Heaven, it's only you. Go 
call up the butcher and order some chops or 
something for you and James ; as for me I'll 
gather up my scattered remnants and go to bed. 
[Gets up and begins to gather bundles.] 

Elenor. But Margaret, }'ou can't — I've asked 

187 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Peggy Ball to dinner. [Mrs, C. sinks back into 
chair.] 

Mrs. Carton. Oh Lord! 

Elenor. I'm so sorry — but you see, she was 
here, and she was so put out at missing you that 
I induced her to stay — 

Mrs. Carton. [Feebly.] Where Is she? 

Elenor. She's gone to make a call, and later 
she's coming back. Perhaps I could head her 
off— 

Mrs. Carton. Elenor, you poor martyr I 
After urging you to ask anybody at any time — I 
act like this. I'm perfectly delighted to have 
Peggy, and I'll interview the butcher on the chop 
question at once. [Goes to phone,] South 36. 
Is this Brown's? This is Mrs. Carton. I want 
six lam.b chops in fifteen minutes. 

Elenor. Better get more than six. 

Mrs. Carton. [To Elenor.] This is Friday — 
Mary won't eat any. Connect me with the gro- 
cery, will you? Hello, is this you, John? This 
is Mrs. Carton. I want to give an order. Two 
dozen Blue Points, a can of Armour's tom.ato 
soup, two bunches of head lettuce, can of French 
peas, can of strawberry preserve and a can of 
plum pudding. I have to have the things in fifteen 
minutes. Bring it yourself then, I simply have 
to have li. All right. [Hangs up 7'eceiver.] God 
bless the man who invented the telephone. Now, 
I'll board Mary's sweeping day temper, and break 
the news to her. If you hear cries of "Gaston — 
Jacques — a moi — au secours !" — don't hesitate. 
[She goes out.] 

138 



A DINNER— WITH COMPLICATIONS. 

Elenor. This is a nice state of affairs — -the 
shock over Peggy was so great that I didn't dare 
mention Richard Henry! [Enter PeggyJ] 

Peggy. Hello — am I not prompt? Edith 
wasn't at home, so I hurried back. Has Mrs. Car- 
ton come yet.'* 

Elenor. Just this minute, and she's delighted 
that you're coming, and she's so anxious to meet 
you. [Enter Mrs, Carton.] 

Mrs. Carton. My dear, the havoc was awful ! 
[Sees Peggy.] Oh, I beg your pardon — this is 
Miss Ball, isn't it? Pm so glad to meet you at 
last. It's just sweet of you to come in this in- 
formal way. 

Peggy. It's sweet of you to have me. 

Mrs. Carton. I love to have Elenor feel 
enough at home to ask her friends any time. 

Peggy. Oh, that is so nice — some hostesses 
make such a fuss over you that you feel uncom- 
fortable. 

Mrs. Carton. I know. I met a woman today 
who said to me — "My dear, I'm just worn out. 
We've had company for a week, and we've been 
prancing on our hind legs ever}- minute of the 
time." [All laugh.] Oh, good, here's the Pro- 
fessor. [Enter Prof. James Carton. Mrs. C. 
goes to him.] I'm so glad you're early, dear. 

Prof. C. Am I? I've lost all track of time. 
I'm so tired I don't know whether I'm on my head 
or my heels. That convention — 

Mrs. Carton. Well, never mind it now. Come 
and meet ]\liss Ball, an old schoolmate of Elenor's 

139 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

who is to have dinner with us. [She leads hint 
to Peggy.] 

Prof. C. Glad to meet you, Miss Hall ! 

ElenO'R. Ball — not Hall, Professor. 

Prof. C. To be sure — Ball. How are you, 
Elenor ? 

Elenor. I'm all right. How did your last 
meeting go off? 

Prof. C. It was ghastly. The paper of the 
day was handled by Professor Bascom, whom I 
believe to be an arrant charlatan. It was enough 
to drive any conservative scientist to madness. 
Would you believe it, he asserted — 

Mrs. Carton. Dinner's almost ready, dear, 
won't you run along and Vv^ash your paddies ? 

Prof. C. Oh — ah — yes, of course. Dinner, 
you say? I'd quite forgotten dinner. 

Elenor. [Laughing.] Well, the rest of us 
haven't. 

Prof. C. [Stops at door.] Oh, by the way, 
Margaret, dinner reminds me that I asked some 
one to dine with us tonight. 

Mrs. Carton. [In despair.] James! 

Prof. C. Yes, now who could it have been? 
name has slipped my mind — 

Mrs. Carton. Are you sure it v/as for to- 
night ? 

Prof. C. Yes, Oh — yes. Ah — now I have it — 
it was Landis — Dr. Landis. [Tableau.] 

Mrs. Carton. Landis? Not that little whip- 
per-snapper doctor man? 
• Peggy. Oh ! ! 

Prof. C. Whipper-snapper is scarcely the epi- 

140 



A DINNER— WITH COMPLICATIONS, 

thet I should apply — Landis has some very good 
ideas, some excellent ideas on nerves — -and he'll 
be here at seven. [Prof. C. goes out.] 

Mrs. Carton. My children, this is fate. We're 
to be besaddled with a sap headed baa-lamb of a 
youth, who will talk our heads off — [Elenor 
tries 'vainly to stop her.] 

Elenor. It may not be the man you think it 
is, Margaret, 

Mrs. Carton. No — such luck, there's but one 
Landis — for which we give Heaven thanks ! Also, 
there are but six chops. [Goes to phone.] South 
36. Brown Bros.? Add two chops — no — four 
chops to Mrs. Carton's order. [Hangs tip re- 
ceiver.] Now for another round with Mary. It 
all comes of being married to the original absent- 
minded Professor of the funny papers. [She 
goes out.] 

Peggy. [Angrily.] Well — Elenor Haskins, 
I'll get my things and go at once — I'll not stay 
another minute in the house with that hateful 
woman. Didn't you tell her that Dick was com- 
ing? 

Elenor. Peggy, dear, I didn't have time. She 
came in just before 3^ou did, and I called out that 
there'd be company to dinner, but I didn't go into 
detail. 

Peggy. [Hotly.] Oh, well, it doesn't matter. 
I'll call Dick up and tell him not to come. 

Elenor. Oh, now Peggy, please don't do that. 
Just think how^ I'd feel. I'm certain that Mar- 
garet is talking about some other Landis — it 
can't be yoiir Landis. 

141 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Peggy. Yon heard her say there was only one 
Dr. Landis. 

Elexor. But in a city of this size — Oh, Peg- 
gy, if you care anything about me, you won't go 
hke this. {Follozvs Peggy up to door. Peggy 
bursts into tears.] 

Peggy. If I thought she did mean Dick — I'd — 
I'd kill her! 

Elenor. Well, but she didn't. Please, please, 
come up to my room, and we'll prink a little be- 
fore Dick comes. Why — I wouldn't have had 
this mistake — [Elenor leads her out, door of 
left, as Mrs. C. enters.] 

Mrs. Carton. I'll be convicted of cook mur- 
der yet! This thing of entertaining a lady cook 
in your kitchen, whose temper has to be consid- 
ered, and whose feelings have to be eternally pro- 
pitiated, is a trifle too exhausting. [Enter Elenor 
hastily.] 

Elenor. Well, Margaret Carton, if you 
haven't put both feet firmly in it now I give up. 

Mrs. Carton. [Da^ed.] What is now? 

Elenor. Oh, nothing, except that this Dr. 
Landis who is coming tonight is engaged to Peg- 
gy Ball. 

Mrs. Carton. Engaged to — Alerciful Jupiter 
— strike me dead with a thunderbolt ! 

Elenor. Sap headed baa-lamb was only one 
of the adjectives you called him. Peggv-'s up in 
my room crying at this minute. 

Mrs. Carton. Why didn't you tell me she was 
engaged to him? 

Elenor. Tell you? I didn't get a chance. 

142 



A DINNER— WITH COMPLICATIONS. 

You burst into denunciation before I collected 
my wits. 

Mrs. Carton. [Desperately.'] Well, what am 
I to do now? Shall I be taken ill, and not ap- 
pear ? 

Elenor. Certainly not. Just swear that this 
is the wrong Landis — that you know another one, 
but you never heard of this one before. 

Mrs. Carton. But I know him quite well. 

Elenor. That doesn't make any difference. 
I've sworn to Peggy that you never have set eyes 
on her Richard, and that the whole thing is a 
mistake ! 

Mrs. Carton. Well, the only thing that will 
get us through this night is the stiffest cocktail 
that I can mix. It must be a cup to cheer and to 
inebriate. [She hastens oat. Peggy enters.] 

Peggy. I'm hoping that something may have 
detained Dick — then I can plead a headache — 
[Enter Dr. Richard Landis — Peggy runs to him.] 
Oh Dick — I'm so glad you've come — I mean I 
wish you hadn't — 

Dr. Landis. Why — Peggy — what's the mat- 
ter? 

Peggy. Nothing. Elenor, this is Dick — and 
Dick this is Elenor. 

Elenor. [Cordially.] How do you do, Dr. 
Landis — it's a great pleasure to meet you, and 
to tell you what a lucky man I think you are. 

Dr. Landis. Am I not? I've scarcely gotten 
used to my luck, yet. 

Peggy. I do so want you two to like each 
other, for my sake. Won't you try? 

143 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Elenor. Try indeed! I don't feel that it 
would be so difficult for us to like each other for 
our own sakes, do you Dr. Landis? 

Dr. Landis. I've begun on that principle 
already. 

Peggy. Well, don't you like her too well. 
She's a regular terror. At school we never dared 
introduce our beaux to Elenor, for she always 
took them away from us. 

Elenor. [Solcnmly.] Dr. Landis, do you feel 
that you ought to run the risk of being kidnaped ? 

Dr. Landis. Having been warned, I shall be 
on my guard. But Peggy here could rescue and 
protect me. 

Peggy. I won't have you two poking fun at 
me. Guy a fella' your own size. 

Dr. Landis. You see, Miss Haskins, I'm really 
marrying her to improve her vocabulary and to 
give her some education and training. Purely a 
charity case. 

Peggy. Oh, you wretch — I hate you. [Elenor 
and Landis laugh.] 

Landis. [Holding out hand.] Call a truce, 
Peggy. We won't tease you any more. 

Peggy. [Ignoring hand.] Teasing me? Why 
— have you been teasing me? 

Elenor. Peggy — you've missed your vocation 
— what heights you might have scaled as a com- 
edy actress! [Enter Mrs. Carton.] 

Peggy. [Sfifily.] I believe you know Dr. 
Landis, Mrs. Carton? 

Mrs. Carton. No, I've never had the pleas- 



ure- 



144 



. A DINNER— IVITH COMPLICATIONS. 

Landis. [Advancing.'] Oh, yes, I know Mrs. 
Carton. [Tableau.] 

Mrs. Carton. I've heard so much of you, Dr. 
Landis, and I've always wanted to know you — 
[Landis, da::ed, looks from one to another.] 

Landis. Thank you — but I, but we — 

Mrs. Carton. Do let me offer my congratula- 
tions. Of course, you'll come into the suburbs, 
won't you — all the brides and grooms do. It's 
lovely in summer, but in winter. ... I was 
saying just this afternoon to Lienor — Oh — here's 
Professor Carton. [Prof. C. enters, looks at them 
a second, then advances.] 

Prof. Carton. [Surprised,] Why, how are 
you, Landis, glad to see you. 

Mrs. Carton. Yes, I want you to meet Dr. 
Landis, dear, he is so fortunate as to be engaged 
to Miss Ball— 

Prof. Carton. Meet him? Why, I know 
Landis as well as you do. 

Landis. [Stiffly.] Mrs. Carton has forgotten 
that we have met before. 

Elenor. [Cheerfidly.] It's so hard to remem- 
ber faces, isn't it? 

Mrs. Carton. You know I never forget them, 
so I'm sure you must be mistaken. I know an- 
other Landis, but I've never met you before. 

Landis. Indeed ? What Landis is that ? 

Mrs. Carton. Why — why — the — Landis, the^ — - 

Prof. C. Not the Landis — the nerve special- 
ist? 

Mrs. Carton. [Relief.] Yes, of course — the 
Landis. 

145 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Peggy. The sap headed baa-lamb Landis. 

Elenor. Margaret does love *'the tingle of an 
over-statement." 

Prof. C. Why, I didn't know you'd met Dr. 
Landis, Margaret. 

Mrs. Carton. [Desperately.] Met him? Why, 
I know him well — the most tiresome old fogey ! 

Landis. I've always heard he was a very bril- 
liant man. 

Mrs. Carton. Brilliant men are never what 
they seem — do you think they are? [Enter ''the 
Landis/' Prof. C. goes to him, hand out.] 

Prof. C. Here you are, Landis. Glad to see 
you. I was beginning to be afraid that you had 
forgotten us. 

The Landis. Forgotten you? Not at all — 
am I tardy ? 

Prof. C. I don't have to present you to Mrs. 
Carton, as she tells me you are old friends. 
[Tableau. Landis at a loss.] 

Mrs. Carton. [Hysterically.] How do you 
do, Dr. Landis? Now, I know you won't re- 
member me, but you cannot expect me to forget 
the great Landis ? 

The Landis. [Bows over hand,] Madame, 
you overwhelm me. I remember our meeting per- 
fectly. 

Mrs. Carton. How nice of you. Now pray 
let me present you to our guest, Miss Haskins, 
and to Miss Ball, and strangely enough to an- 
other Dr. Landis. 

The Landis. Indeed? This is a coincidence. 

Dr. Landis. I'm indebted to vou, sir, for 

146 



'A DINNER— WITH COMPLICATIONS. 

making our name illustrious. [Mrs. C. leads ''the 
Landis'' aside, zvhile others talk.] 

Mrs. Carton. [Hurriedly.] Dr. Landis, I 
must throw myself upon your mercy — don't show 
surprise at anything I may do or say, I can't ex- 
plain the details now — ^but later at the table. 

The Landis. [Soothingly.] Exactly — I un- 
derstand. [Looks at her keenly.] May I ask 
) how long this has been going on — this feeling of 
/ excitement ? 

Mrs. Carton. [Laughing.] About an hour, 
I regret to say. 

The Landis. Does it occur at the same hour 
each evening? 

Mrs. Carton. [Surprised.] Each evening? 
Mercy no — why — Oh, I see — you think — -you 
think I'm crazy — [Begins to laugh hysterically.] 
Laugh — laugh, Dr. Landis, please — I'll explain 
later. [He laughs forcedly, all looking at them 
in surprise.] 

Prof. C. Can't we all enjoy the joke? 

Mrs. Carton. Dr. Landis and I were just 
reminiscing a bit. That was really very good. 
Doctor — very good. [She motions to Lienor to 
join them. She does so, and Mrs. C. takes the 
Prof, aside.] 

Elenor. I'm so pleasantly disappointed in you. 
Dr. Landis. 

The Landis. That's pleasant news. May I 
ask what you expected? 

Elenor. A stern, bewhiskered gentleman, with 
spectacles and a rumbling basso profundo, who 
would lecture us! 

147 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

The Landis. What gave rise to this terrible 
vision ? 

Elenor. Well, Mrs. Carton warned us that 
you were awfully learned, and impressive. 

The Landis. [Laughing.] And I'm not a 
bit, am I? 

Elenor. No, you're delightfully human. 

The Landis. Thanks. [Coniidentially.] 
You're a very good freind of Mrs. Carton's — are 
you not? May I ask is she quite — {Taps fore- 
head] — is she — 'an invalid? 

Elenor. Margaret ? Why, no — what put such 
an idea in your head ? 

The Landis. Well, this hallucination about 
my being an old friend, you know — I never saw 
the lady before — and she acted rather strangely, 
and I thought perhaps Carton wanted my opinion 
on the case. [Elenor laughs uproariously. Prof. 
C. looks at them.] 

Prof. C. I never knew Landis was such a 
joker. {To Mrs. C] Well, I confess I can't 
make your muddle out, but I'll keep still, and you 
can manage it as you think best. By the way, I 
forgot to tell you that Landis is a radical tee- 
totaler, so don't let Mary bring in wine by any 
mistake. 

Mrs. Carton. [In despair.] I'm lost. {Enter 
Mary zvith tray of cocktails, zvhich she passes, 
everybody taking one, until she gets to The 
Landis, whom she serves last.] 

The Landis. {Turning to Dr. L.] Miss 
Haskins is just telling me of your good fortune, 

148 



A DINNER— WITH COMPLICATIONS. 

Dr. Landis. May I offer you and Miss Ball my 
good wishes? 

Peggy. Thanks — it's a great pleasure to ac- 
cept them, Dr. Landis, we've all heard so much 
about you, and your wonderful work. Mrs. Car- 
ton was speaking of you tonight. [Vindictively.^ 
You and she have been friends a long time, years 
and years, haven't you? 

Mrs. Carton. [Hastily.'] Shall we admit 
how long, Dr. Landis? [Mary offers him glass, 
zvliich he declines, wheretipon, Mrs. Carton seizes 
it, puts it in his hand, to his great astonishment.'] 
No — our past friendship shall be shrouded in 
darkness, but Dr. Landis, I call upon you to drink 
to our future friendship! [He drinks in spite 
of himself. Mary stands at door.] 

Mary. Dinner is served, ma'am. 

Mrs. Carton. [Laughs zvith relief and ex- 
citement.] Oh, Dr. Landis — [Takes his arm, and 
stands in the middle of the room.] — will you all 
come out to dinner? [All go out laughing and 
talking.] 

CURTAIN. 



149 



REFORM 



REFORM. 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT. 
CHARACTEKS. 

Henrietta Cox, Reformer; strong-minded woman with 

gentlemanly manners. 

Constance Beverly, only partially reformed; a decorat- 
ive young person of no very decided convictions. 

Place — Bachelor-maid apartments, v^here the two girls 
live. 

Time — Present. Hour — Eight o'clock. 

Setting. — Library. Exit at center, hung with curtains. 
Down right fireplace, with fire burning. Couch near 
the fireplace. Down left a table with magazines, 
books, flowers, lamp, etc. Chair on either side of 
table. Up stage right small writing desk, open and 
littered with papers. Left of door at center a big 
chair, or screen, large enough to hide behind. 

Costumes — Evening gowns. 

Note. — Business is left very much to the discretion of 
the actors. Scene where Constance throttles Henrietta 
can be made very funny if Henrietta relaxes entirely, 
and shrieks each time she is shaken. The idea of the 
prank must be made very clear to the audience by 
Constance before she seizes Henrietta's throat. Con- 
stance's last speech goes best at center and when she 
says ''we must talk about our clothes" let her drag 
Henrietta to table, where they sink into chairs on 
either side of table, facing each other, noses fairly 
touching. 

[Cttrfam on empty stage — dock strikes eight. 
Enter at center — Constance, who stands counting 
hour, then comes to couch.] 

Con. Eight o'clock — only eight o'clock — three 

153 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

mortal hours before I can decently go to bed ! 
[Picks lip hook on couch and sinks down, hook 
in hand.] Ye Gods — how Henrietta and I do 
bore ourselves ! I don't see how she ever got me 
into this scheme anyway. . . . Oh, it all 
sounded so fine, in Henrietta's big voice, with all 
her enthusiasm — "independent life for woman — 
earning your bread by the sweat of your brow — 
financial and spiritual independence" — and all 
that tommy-rot — and then Roger laughed at me 
so, and that made me so mad ! [Rises and crosses 
to tahle.] I really did believe in Reform until I 
knew something about it, but now — I've had three 
weary months of it. Henrietta's reformed every- 
thing in the house — me^ — 'the servants — the furni- 
ture — the cat — even Hamlet — the cat — the most 
detestably superior cat I ever met. I think she 
feeds him on Force or Grape-nuts — or some of 
those brain foods. [Saunters to fireplace and leans 
on mantel, yazviiing.] Oh, dear — I wish Roger 
were here to — laugh at me! [Enter at center 
Henrietta, nose in manuscript. She inarches to 
tahle, zvith glance at Con.'] 

Hen. Oh, here you are, Constance. I want 
your opinion on a paper I am to read tomorrow 
before the Woman's Alliance, a verv influential 
organization, and I want to make my points clear- 
ly and definitely. By the way, Constance, have 
you seen that blue street suit of mine? There 
were some important notes in the pocket and I 
can't seem to find it. 

Con. Your blue suit? Oh, yes, I saw it — I 
gave it away ! 

154 



REFORM. 

Hen. [Utmost consternation.'] Gave it away? 
My new suit ? Why, Fd only had it a week ! ! 

Con. Yes, I know — -but zve believe in sharing 
with our sisters, don't w^e, Henrietta? "Indi- 
vidual ownership is the clog in the wheel of 
progress," philanthropy has no place in an en- 
lightened world — but a spirit of giving — giving 
our best — our very best" — I think I quote you 
exactly, Henrietta! 

Hen. Well, I do think my second best might 
have done in this instance. Why didn't you give 
her your clothes ? 

Con. Mine wouldn't fit her. Of course, I 
couldn't force ill-fitting clothes on my sister, 
could I, Henry? 

Hen. Well — what's done is done — To go back 
to my paper — 

Con. What's it about? 

Hen. Why — ''Reform," of course. Now, 
after my introduction and premise — I lead up to 
this — ^Therefore, I say — -it is an exploded theory 
that woman is man's equal — it is admitted by all 
thinking and intelligent people that woman is 
man's superior! Let her then take her rightful 
place in the world of affairs — let her cease to con- 
sider marriage the end and aim of existence ! Let 
her go forth and taste the freedom that comes to 
the bread-winner — let her sweep man from her 
horizon — and dedicate herself to the companion- 
ship of high genius — 

Con. But all our geniuses are men — Hen- 
rietta ! [Scorching glance from Hen, zvho sit'eeps 
on.] 

155 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Hen. Let her point the way of hidependence 
to her shackled sisters — let her prove to them 
that the only way to develop character and soul 
is to come from under the baneful influence of 
Man. It is for woman herself — 

Con. Henrietta Cox — that's all balderdash — 
you've been telling me this for three months and 
I don't believe one word of it ! ! ! [Hen. horri- 
acd.] 

Hen. Constance — you — what do you mean ? I 
don't understand ! 

Con. That's just the point — you don't under- 
stand. Now, Henrietta, do you mean to tell me 
that you think the three months we've spent here 
together living the independent life — have been 
successful? Is this what your soul craves? Oh — 
Henry — we may work hard all day and fool our- 
selves into thinking we're improving the world — 
but what about the long dull evenings, like to- 
night, when you don't have to lecture — and we're 
all dressed up in our best dinner frocks and not 
a soul to see us. Oh, Henry — don't vou think a 
nice comfy man would be a pleasant thing to have 
about the house? What about these awful in- 
betweens ? [Hen. marches to and fro, hands be- 
hind her.] 

Hen. "In-betweens" — now w^hat on earth do 
you mean by that? Do be explicit. 

Con. You know perfectly well what I mean. 
And what do you gain by it? Just add a few 
recruits to the noble army of discontented women ! 

Hen. There may be something in what you 
say. I sometimes ask myself "what is the use of 
156 



REFORM. 

it all?" [Catches herself and says hastily.^ But 
that's when Fm tired — only — when I'm tired! 

Con. But you're always tired, Henrietta, and 
you're simply working yourself to death. Some 
day — kersmash — and off you go to a lunatic asy- 
lum! Ever been to an asylum? Nice cheerful 
place ! And as for financial independence — 

Hen. Now, Constance — don't tell me that you 
haven't enjoyed spending the money made by 
your very own brain! 

Con. [Laughs.] Of course, I have — I always 
enjo}^ spending money. The trouble is my very 
own brain doesn't make enough ! Besides, I'd 
every bit as soon spend money made by my 
father's very own brain — or Rogers! 

Hen. Constance, I'm more disappointed in you 
than I can say — 

Con. And as for dedicating yourself to the 
companionship of great geniuses — Oh Lord, 
Henry, I'm so sick of geniuses! If a big, normal 
man would come in at that door this minute and 
swear at me — I'd — I'd — hug him ! ! 

Hen. C — o — n — s — t — a — n — c — e ! 

Con. I know — I'm perfectly abandoned ! Why, 
I even welcome that Norwegian slave of yours — 
the one that spouts Ibsenism — I welcome him with 
open arms ! 

Hen. [Indignantly.'] If you refer to Pro- 
fessor Yorndolf — he is very much interested in 
our work ! 

Con. Our work? [Laughs merrily.] Why, 
you dear old goose, do you fool yourself into 
thinking that Professor Yorndolf cares a farthing 

157 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

for our work? Why — he's desperately in love 
with you ! [Thought dan'us sIozAy in H.'s face.] 

Hen. [Angrilx.] Constance, I cannot permit 
this ! 

Con. Well, it's the truth, anyway — and if 
you're half the woman I think you are — you'll ad- 
mit that Reform's a failure and — marry your 
Yorndolf — he's a real man ! 

Hen. But you've misunderstood the situation 
entirely. If Professor Yorndolf's interest in me 
had been other than — professional — I should have 
been the first to know of it ! 

Con. [Laughs.] No, my dear — you would 
have been the last ! And while, we're on the sub- 
ject, I may as well make my confession. I've been 
thinking over this woman question rather thor- 
oughly these last three months and I've come to 
the conclusion that there are just two points of 
view. Either you're a normal woman with a home, 
a husband and some children, or you're an ab- 
normal creature, with a hobby — a platform and 
some lectures. All you have to do is take your 
choice. 

Hen. [Absently.] Well, I'm not convinced of 
your truth or your logic — and — [JVariuIy:] — what 
you have suggested to me about Prof. Yorndolf 
has agitated me greatly! 

Con. [Laughs.] Well, what he will soon sug- 
gest to you himself will agitate you more or I 
miss my guess. [Starts to go out, stops at door.] 
Do you know, Henry — I feel that I'm better fitted 
to reform one man — than I am to waste my time 

158 



REFORM. 

on a lot of ungrateful women! [Exit laughing.] 
Hen. {Looks into space a jnonient thinking, 
then seizes pen and ink and begins to unite, speak- 
ing line as she zvrites it.] "Woman alone can fight 
the battle of woman' ^ — In love with me — Oh, 
Constance must be mistaken! [IVrites.] "Woman 
alone can carry the banner of freedom" — I re- 
member his eyes, that night he talked to me about 
Platonic friendship! Oh — absurd! [IVrites.] 
"Woman herself" — Oh [Bites pen in silence] it's 
no use — I can't write in this frame of mind. Con- 
stance has ruined my work for tonight. [ Goes to 
couch, and picks up Con's book, opens it.] Humph 
— Rosetti's Sonnets — so she's been at this senti- 
mental stuff again. [Sits on couch,] Constance 
is a very disturbing element — she's so irrevoca- 
bly feminine ! [Szvings her feet around on couch 
like a man, leans back, book in hand.] "Sigfried 
Yorndolf" — An abnormal creature, with a hobby, 
a platform and some lectures — or a normal woman 
— with a home — a husband and some children. 
. . [Closes eyes.] Sigfried — -Yorndolf — 

[Drops asleep. Enter Constance, zvho comes to- 
ward couch.] 

Con. I say, Henry, did you see that book of 
mine — Oh — asleep! [Picks up book, and starts 
up stage.] Good night, old lady — I'm off! [Turns, 
looks back — runs front and puts book on tabic, 
laughing softly — then tiptoes behind Hen., and 
looks at her — more laughter. Gets zvell behind 
her, and grabs her by the throat, shaking her. 
Hen. sits up and shrieks.] 

Con. [Deep z'oicc] Henrietta Cox, I am a 

159 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

desperate Man! If you move or breathe, I'll 
scatter your brain upon the drawing room rug! 
[Hen. shrieks.] I am the agent of a Union. Our 
mission is to rid the earth of strong-minded 
Female Idiots ! I am sent by one who loves you — 
to warn you ! 

Hex. Sigfried! [Con. continues, almost 
convulsed by laughter, and shaking her vigorous- 
ly every fezv minutes.] In the first place, you are 
espousing a hopeless cause — in the second you've 
led an enthusiastic young idiot to give up her 
lover — Roger Sherman — the nicest man in the 
world [Hard shake] to follow your silly dictates 
— thirdly, in order to take your place as the wife 
of one Yorndolf — who loves you — 

Hen. Sigfried — Sigfried ! 

Con. I now call upon you to give me your 
word of honor as a gentleman — that }'ou will 
never again lecture upon reform. Promise — or 
die ! 

Hen. [Weakly, ] I promise. 

Con. One mistake — and you die. Now I will 
leave you, but if you turn, or speak until I have 
left the room, I'll play havoc with your cerebrum 
and your cerebellum ! [Runs up stage and hides 
behind chair near exit. Hen. runs out crying — 
''Constance — Coiistance!" Con/s head appears 
behind back of chair, laughing — she goes to table, 
shaking zvith mirth.] 

Con. Oh, that was lovely — and the way she 
squeaked "Sigfried" — [Enter Hen. hastily, 
seizes Con.'s zurist and drags her to couch.] 

160 



REFORM. 

Hen. Oh, Constance, IVe had such a terrible 
fright ! 

Con. Fright^ — ^what happened ? 

Hen. Why, I was sitting here reading, and a 
horrid man — 

Con. Man — where is the man? 

Hen. Grabbed me round the neck, like this, 
and threatened to kill me if I didn't give up Re- 
form. 

Con. Why — when was this? 

Hen. Just a moment ago. And Constance he 
said — there was a sort of Ku-klux after me. 

Con. [Consumed with mirth.] Why, Hen- 
rietta, I think you must be mistaken. I was in 
here just a few moments ago and you were sleep- 
ing — over Rosetti ! 

Hen. Was I alone? 

Con. Quite — except for me. 

Hen. [Da::ed.] I must have dreamed it. 

Con. [Htunorously.] Yes, you must have 
dreamed it ! 

Hen. Constance, do you believe in dreams ? 

Con. [Rising.] Absolutely! And I've been 
thinking that we'd be a good deal safer if we had 
a man about this house. . . . 

Hen. Constance, are you sure? 

Con. About what? 

Hen. Sigfried — Professor Yorndolf? [Con. 
goes to desk, laughing.] 

Con. Oh, about him? Yes, I'm reasonably 
sure. 

Hen. But how sure? — 

Con. Well, one night when you would talk 

161 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

to him about Neo-platonism or some frivolous 
subject like that — he confided to me that he loved 
you — utterly! [Rummages in desk.] Have you 
seen that — Hello — what's this? Telegram — un- 
opened. [Comes front, reading direction.'] Miss 
Henrietta Cox — seems to be yours, Miss Cox. 
[Hen. seizes it, breaks seal and reads, while Con. 
gets book from table and goes tip to door.] 

Hen. Constance — wait — wait — read — read ! 
[Waves telegram at Con,, zvho hurries front,] 

Con. What's the matter? Who's dead? 
[Snatches it and reads.] "Henrietta Cox — Love 
you madly. Will you marry me ? Sigf ried Yorn- 
dolf." [Con. shouts, then counts words.] Just 
ten words — that's the cleverest thing your Yorn- 
dolf ever did. Oh Henry, take him — he's a real 
man. [Hen. goes slowly to fireplace, tearing up 
ielegrain as she goes, tosses it into Hre, turns 
slowly, and says absently.] 

Hen. Constance — when did you hear from 
Ro2:er ? 



'i=> 



Con. This morning — of course. 

Hen. What did he say ? 

Con. [Tartly.] None of your business. Oh — 
'pologize. Well — he said — among other things 
that he intended to marry me the 20th of next 
month, willy-nilly. 

Hen. [Distrait.] Twentieth. Do you think 
we could get ready by the 20th ? 

Con. Henrietta — you mean? 

Hen. [Center.] I'm going to Reform ! [Con. 
throws arms about her.] 

Con. Oh, Henrietta Cox — ^you are a brick ! I 

162 



REFORM, 

always said Reform begins at home, and if we 
haven't done anything else we've reformed each 
other. Oh — Henry — I have a thought — we'll 
have a double church wedding — troops of brides- 
maids, and ushers — Oh — lots of ushers — 

Hen. Ushers ? 

Con. Yes — to ush ! And the organ playing — 
Here comes the bride — Get on to her stride — you 
know — and Oh — Henrietta — [Drags her to, table 
zvhere they sit opposite each other.] We must 
talk about our clothes. 

Hen. Clothes— do we have to have clothes ? 

Con. Why, Henry, that's the most important 
part. We'll have to have two white satins with 
veils — going away gowns, evening gowns, morn- 
ing gowns, [Hen. repeats each detail with amaze- 
ment] dinner gowns — shirtwaist suits — gloves, 
hats, coats, shoes — 

CURTAIN. 



l& 



WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG 



WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG. 

CHAEACTEES. 
Mrs! Martin. } Scheming Parent,. 

^t^ ^SI;. I Their Offspring. 

Scene — Mrs. Starr's drawing room. The two 
ladies are discovered at afternoon tea. 

Mrs. Starr. My dear Agnes, it's no use. 
We've gone about the thing in the wrong way en- 
tirely. 

Mrs. Martin. I don't see what more we 
could have done — we've brought them up side by 
side, next door to each other — they're scarcely 
been separated a day, except when they went 
away to school. 

Mrs. S. That's just the trouble — they know 
each other too well for a romantic attachment. 
We must separate them in order to bring them 
together. 

Mrs. M. Why not tell them the whole story—* 
how we went to school together, and planned, 
even then, to live next door to each other when 
we married and marry our children to each 
other — 

Mrs. S. My dear, that would be the very 
worst thing we could possibly do. Once they 
suspect that we want them to be fond of each 

167 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

other, and they'll hate each other from that in- 
stant. 

Mrs. M. But if we told them how we have 
always wanted the two places to be joined — how 
ever since our husbands died — we've — 

Mrs. S. Not a hint of such a thing, as you 
love me — Agnes ! 

Mrs. M. Well, what are we going to do then ? 

Mrs. S. Oppose their constant companionship 
at every turn. You select some desirable girl for 
Dick, and I'll select a man for Polly, and we'll 
urge their attention in these other directions con- 
stantly. 

Mrs. M. But suppose they should actually act 
upon our advice? 

Mrs. S. Never fear! If that method doesn't 
arouse their interest in each other, I vaiss my 
guess. 

Mrs. M. Well, no doubt you're right — you're 
always cleverer than I — but it seems risky to me. 
It would break my heart if Dick and Polly didn't 
marry finally. 

Mrs. S. Well, if they did marry and didn't 
love — I mean if they just married because it was 
convenient — it would break my heart. [Enter 
Polly — radiant.'] 

Polly. Hello — Motherdie. Howdy — do — -dy, 
Aunt Agnes? Am I just in time for tea? [Mrs. 
Starr smiles, and pours tea for her.] 

Mrs. S. Where have you been, dear? 

Polly. Up in the woods — for spring wild 
flowers. I've got heaps in the library. Do you 

168 



WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG. 

know it's spring — you two! Real, live, blessed, 

growing" spring? 

• Mrs. M. You look like spring yourself, Polly 

dear. Did you go alone — or was somebody with 

you? 

Polly. Nobody — but Dick. 

Mrs. S. Poor Dick — is he counted as nobody ? 

Polly. Oh, of course, he's somebody in a way 
— that is — well — he's just Dick! 

Mrs. M. Just the nicest bov in the world — 
that's all ! 

Polly. [Laughs.] Oh, well, you're his mother 
• — so, of course, he rather dwarfs any heroes that 
have gone before! [Mrs. M. rises.] 

Mrs. M. Saucy Polly ! What did you do with 
my boy ? Why didn't you bring him in for tea ? 

Polly. Two reasons — I didn't want him — and 
he didn't want to come ! 

Mrs. M. I must go and catch him before he 
escapes. I want him to make a call with me this 
afternoon on Mrs. Braddon and Susan. Between 
you and me, Martha, I've always wished that 
Dick might become interested in Susan — she's 
such a lovely girl ! 

Polly. Susan Braddon? Why, Dick can't 
bear the sight of her! [Mothers exchange sig- 
nificant glances.] 

Mrs. M. Well, he doesn't know her very well 
yet, and she is just the sort of girl he ought to 
marry. 

Mrs. S. Yes, come to think of it — I believe 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

you're right. She's his opposite in everything — ► 
quiet, reserved, dignified — 

Polly. Why don't you say it right out — she's 
a prig ! 

Mrs. S. Why, Polly, dear! 

Polly. Well, that's what she is. Dick and I 
can't stand her — either of us. 

Mrs. S. Well, of course, you can scarcely ex- 
peck Dick to consult your taste in his selection of 
a wife. 

Mrs. M. I must run along. Perhaps I'll be 
able to convert Dick during the afternoon. Con^e 
in to tea with us tomorrow, you and Polly. Good- 
bye, Polly. 

Polly. [Absently, \ Goodbye. [Two moth- 
ers stand at door smiling.] 

Mrs. S. It works like a charm. [Mrs. M, 
goes out; Mrs. S. comes front.] 

Polly. What a silly idea of Aunt Agnes'. 

Mrs. S. What idea> 

Polly. About marrying Dick to Susan. 

Mrs. S. Oh, do you think so ? He might do 
worse. And while we're speaking of Dick, dear, 
I want to warn you that now you and Dick are 
grown up, it isn't wise for you to spend so much 
time together. People will talk ■ 

Polly. Well— let them ! 

Mrs. S. [As if changing the subject.] 1 had 
a letter today from an old friend of your father — 
Robert Agnew. He visited us once years ago, 
with his little boy — Bob. 

Polly. Bobby Agnew — I remember. 

Mrs. S. Well, your father and Robert Agnew 

170 



M/HEN LOVE IS YOUNG. 

planned that when you and Bobby grew up that 
they would bring you together in the hope that 
you might fall in love and marry 

Polly. Marry Bobby Agnew? Me? Why, 
mother, how can you suggest such a thing! I 
hated him. He was a horrilDle thing — he chopped 
off a cat's tail once with a hatchet ! Dick and I 
hated him. 

Mrs. S. What Dick thinks doesn't make any 
difference as far as I can see. Bob will inherit 
quite a fortune from his father — < — 

P'OLLY. As if that made any difference! 

Mrs. S. From many points of view he would 
be a desirable match. The point is that Bob is 
coming east and wants to stop off and pay us a 
visit next week. 

Polly. Oh, mother, don't let him. I know 
I'll hate him. 

Mrs. S. Your father would have wished him 
to come, Polly. 

Polly. Well, I might just as well warn you, 
mother, that I'm not going to like him. I'd like 
to please father, but as long as it can't make any 
difference to father now 

Mrs. S. Polly! 

Polly. I think my first duty in marrying is 
to marry some one I like myself. Dick and I 
both think — ■ — • 

Mrs. S. It seems to me that there is a great 
deal of Dick in your remarks. Now, of course, if 
you have Dick in your mind, it is very unfortu- 
nate, because I should never consent to your mar- 



rying him for a minute- 



171 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Polly. Marrying Dick — -what a funny idea — 
why — what an idea! Of course, I haven't got 
Dick in my mind. 

Mrs. S. Well, if you have, let me suggest that 
you put him out. Neither his mother nor I 
would be pleased at such a mistake, old friends 
as we are. 

Polly. Well, to come right down to it, I can't 
see that it would be such a mistake. I don't in- 
tend to marry him any more than he intends to 
marry me, but 

Mrs. S. [Finally.'] Don't let us discuss anv 
such unpleasant ideas, dear. [Exit Mrs. 5".] 

Polly. How unreasonable mother is — and 
how foolish ! I'm not going to marry anybody — ■ 
I'll be hanged if I am ! [Enter Dick — disconso- 
late.] 

Dick. You here. Poll? 

Polly. Go away. I've got a grouch. I've 
ordered you off the premises once today. 

Dick. Hang it^ — don't you nag at me, now, 
or I will toss up the sponge ! 

Polly. What's up with you? 

Dick. Everything. I think I'll go away — and 
cut it all. 

Polly, Going away — now isn't that a snap? 
When a man runs up against anything disagree- 
able, he gets up and goes away — but a girl just 
has to sit still and let the disagreeable things run 
against her. 

Dick. What's struck you, Poll? Has Aunt 
Martha arranged to marry yoii off, too? 

Polly. So it seems. 

172 



WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG, 

Dick. Whatf 

Polly. Haven't you heard? 

Dick. Not a word. Out with it, Polly. 

Polly. You remember Bobby Agnew — that 
nasty boy that chopped the cat's tail off ? 

Dick. Sure. I remember the pup. Well. 

Polly. Well, it seems that Mr. Agnew and 
father had a nice plan that Bob and I should 
marry — > — 

Dick. The dickens they did. 

Polly. So next week Bobby is coming to in- 
spect "yours truly" and decide about my possi- 
bilities. 

Dick. You don't mean it? 

Polly. I do. 

Dick. Well, we won't have it. We won't stand 
for it. I'll tell Aunt Martha it's an outrage. Why, 
the idea, in a free and independent country like 
this — if people can't marry the people they darn 
please, what's the use of staying here? May as 
well live in Mexico — or China. 

Polly. I'll never marry except to please my- 
self. 

Dick. Me, too, Pete. Here mother has got 
some idea in her head of hitching me up to Susan 
Braddon — harnessing me for life to that stiff! 

Polly. Oh, I don't know; she's just what 
you need, Dick — quiet, reserved and dignified. 

Dick. Rodents. She may be what I need, 
but she's not what I want. I told mother she'd 
have to choose again, and she's all cut up about it. 
Hang it — mothers are so unreasonable. 

173 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Polly. Aren't they? [5z^/i.] I don't see 
what we're going to do, do you? 

Dick. Let's both cut and run. 

Polly. We can't. We're too old — or not old 
enough — it wouldn't be proper. 

Dick. [Dolorously.] That's so. It would be 
all right if we got married, I suppose. [Bright- 
ening.] By Jove — I never thought of that — we 
can marry each other, you know, and fool 'em. 

Polly. What on earth would I want to marry 
you for ? I get enough of you now without mar- 
rying you for life. 

Dick. Well, Pm not dying to m.arry you, I 
can tell you. I just suggested it to help out. 
[Silence for a second,] 

Polly. [5/^/i^.] I suppose we might just as 
well reconcile ourselves to it. [Sigh.] The Ag- 
news live in Nebraska or South America or some- 
where or other out there. I suppose you could 
com.e and visit me, if Susan w^ould let you. 

Dick. Susan be 

Polly. Richard ! 

Dick. I didn't say it. 

Polly. Well, you looked it. I suppose you'll 
stay right here at home, you and Susan. [She 
chokes tip and sobs a little.] Sometimes, in the 
spring, when you go out in the woods for vio- 
lets and hypaticas, I hope you'll think of me. 

Dick. Don't, Poll, don't! Why, what would 
be the fun of going to the woods, if you weren't 
there? I wouldn't stay here for a minute if it 
wasn't for you. 

174 



WHEN LGVE IS YOUNG. 

Polly. Perhaps Susan wouldn't like to move 
away. 

Dick. I tell you Susan hasn't got anything to 
do with it! I don't want to marry Susan and I 
won't. I want a girl with lots of "go" to her. 
Somebody who's got spirit — rides horseback, and 
dances and does things with a fellow — like you ! 

Polly. [Nods.] I know. I've gotten used 
to you that way, too. But I suppose we have got 
to get over it when I go out west to live. 

Dick. [Firmly.'] Well, you're not going west 
to live, that's all. 

Polly. But how are we going to help it, Dick ? 
Bobby Agnew would never come here to live just 
because we didn't want to be separated, 

Dick. Who wants him to? The farther west 
he goes, the better. You don't want to marry the 
lobster, do you? 

Polly. Mercy — no. 

Dick. Do you love any other fellow? 

Polly. N-o-o-o — I guess I don't. I can't 
think of any that I do. 

Dick. Then you might just as well make up 
your mind to marry me — it'll save a lot of bother. 

Polly. Our mothers wouldn't hear of it ! 

Dick. They needn't. Why, the idea of your 
going west — what did they think / was going to 
do? Say — Poll, do you remember how we dared 
Bobby Agnew to ride old Reuben, and how we 
started Reub for the barn? 

Polly. Do I ? There wasn't room for Bobby 
and Reuben to go through the barn door both to- 

175 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

gether, so Reub excused himself and took it alone. 
[Both laugh.] 

Dick. I don't know which was the most sur- 
prised — Bobby or Reuben ! 

Polly. Remember how he said I was pretty 
once, and I hit him with the base-ball bat, and we 
thought I'd killed him? 

Dick. Yes — the little liar! 

Polly. Dick ! 

Dick. Well, you weren't pretty — ^you were an 
ugh' little mucker those days. 

Polly. [Hattghtily.] Richard Henry Martin! 

Dick. Present, Pretty Polly! Why, Polly, 
dearie, I never thought of it before, because iVe 
always had you, but it's as plain as the nose on 
your face that if vou married anybody else — I'd 
die ! 

Polly. Oh, don't talk about it, Dickie. 

Dick. Come to think of it, I began to feel 
that way years ago. Don't you remember how 
jealous I used to be of Reddy Brady. I thought 
you liked him better than you did me. 

Polly. But I didn't. 

Dick. 'Member the time up in the old cherry 
tree when I proposed to you. Poll ? I said : 'If 
you like Reddy better than me, I'll shove you out 
of the tree and you'll break your neck!" 

Polly. And I said I didn't, just to save my 
neck. 

Dick. And I said : "Polly, v^ill you always be 
my sweetheart?" [He faces her, holding out his 
arms. ] 

Polly. And I said — I remember perfectly — I 

178 



WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG. 

said: "You bet!" [She puts her head on his 
shoulder, he puts his arms about her. Enter Mrs. 
S. and Mrs. M.\ 

Mrs. S. [Indignantly.'] P'olly Starr — what 
docs this mean? 

Dick. It means that Polly and I have decided 
to get married, Aunt Martha. 

Mrs. M. How lovely! 

Mrs. S. How absurd — two babies, like you. 
Don't let us hear any more of this nonsense. 

Polly. Why not? We love each other more 
than — anything, and we may just as well get mar- 
ried now, when we can have fun together, as to 
wait until we're old. 

Mrs. S. Impossible! [Aside to Mrs. M.] 
Object — object! 

Mrs. M. [Reluctantly. '\ Richard, I must con- 
fess I am disappointed 

Dick. Now, mother, there has never been any 
girl in the world for me except Polly — so there's 
no use talking. 

Mrs. S. Polly, I am more hurt than I can say 
to think that when I expressed myself to you on 
the subject of your intimacy with Dick not 
twenty minutes ago, you were deceiving me, and 
planning to act contrary to my wishes. 

Polly. But, mother, I didn't know I was go- 
ing to marry him twenty minutes ago. I've only 
known it about three minutes ! 

Mrs. S. Polly! 

Polly. Dick, isn't that true? Did we ever 
think of it till about three minutes ago? 

Dick. Never. And we never would have 

177 



DRAMATIC EPISODES, 

thought of it then, if you and mother hadn't got- 
ten so busy planning whom we were to marn-. Of 
course, we weren't going to stand that, and the 
only way we could see out of it was to marry 
each other. 

Mrs. M. And that's the only reason? 

Mrs. S. Yes — is that the only reason ? 

Dick. Why, of course, we love each other be- 
sides, if you call that a reason. 

Mrs. S. It usually is considered a reason for 
marriage. That just shows how little either of 
you know about real love ! I'm utterly unwilling 
to let Polly bind herself — ■■ — 

Polly. Mother — I do love him — I love him 
better than anybody in the world, except you. 

Mrs. M. How long have you loved him that 
way, Polly? 

Polly. Well, it must be five minutes now, 
isn't it, Dick ? 

Mrs. S. Polly Starr! [She begins to weep.] 

Polly. Well, I mean I always have, but Fve 
only been thinking about it for five minutes. [Mrs. 
S. sinks on conch at left, zvceping audibly.] 

Mrs. S. This is terrible — terrible! 

Mrs. M. Martha — I can't see why [Mrs. 

S. goes to her, speaking in undertone.] 

Mrs. S. Cry — cry, you goosie! [Aloud.] 
Dick is no match for Polly 

Mrs. M. Anv more than Pollv is a match for 
Dick ! 

Dick. [Hotly.] :Mother! 

Mrs. M. [Begins to weep.] Don't tell me she 

ITS 



WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG. 

is half as promising a wife for you as Susan 
would be — Susan's an excellent housekeeper. 

Polly. [Hotly.] Well, I must say, Aunt 
Agnes, I never expected this from you. How do 
you know I wouldn't be a good housekeeper, if 
I tried. [Mrs. M. shakes head, sinks on chair at 
right and weeps,] 

Mrs. S. Dick has no talent for business ! 

Polly. [Angrily.] Mother, I will not stand 
here and listen to you abuse my future husband. 
I — I [Polly begins to zveep. Dick in de- 
spair, looks at three weeping zaonien.] 

Dick. I declare, you do surprise me. All the 
years you two have been friends and here, when 
your only children want to get married — when 
anybody 'd think you'd be jumping for joy — you 
cry and take on as if Polly and I were dead ! [Two 
mothers exchange hasty glance, then resume 
weeps.] I'll not stand for it — having Polly pes- 
tered to death. Come along, dear, we'll go out in 
the garden and talk it over quietly. 

Polly. [Sohhing.] Oh, Dick — you were aw- 
fully saucy — but it was fine. [They go out. The 
two mothers rush into each other's arms at cen- 
ter.] 

Mrs. S. Oh — Agnes, isn't it perfect? 
[Kisses her.] 

Mrs. M. Yes, and weren't they dear — bless 
their hearts? [Kisses her.] 

Mrs. S. I was so proud of Dick — he was so 
manly — and fine! 

Mrs. M. [Wipes her eyes.] And wasn't 
Polly adorable when she looked up at him ? 

179 



DRAMATIC EPISODES. 

Mrs. S. Yes, that's the best part of it — they 
really are in love with each other. Our dream 
of years has come to pass, dear friend. [They 
sit on couch, hand in hand.] 

Mrs. M. Yes, thank God — and the children. 
Shall we go abroad, as we've always planned, and 
leave them alone a while? 

Mrs. S. Yes, let's carry out all our cherished 
details. 

Mrs. M. [Laughs.] It was so clever of you 
to think of Bobby Agnew and Susan ! 

Mrs. S. It happened to work — and ''all's well 
that ends well !" [Enter Dick and Polly, hand in- 
hand, sorrow written on every feature. They 
come forward and stand before their parents.] 

Dick. [Sadly.] ?\Iother, Aunt jNIartha, Pollv 
and I have decided that since you feel so terribly 
about this matter, we have no right to ruin your 
lives to gain our own happiness. 

Mrs. M. [Starts up.] But, my dear boy, it's 
my happiness to 

Polly. [Sadly.] We see it in a new light now 
— it would be too selfish. Aunt Agnes — don't 
tempt us to do it. 

Mrs. S. But, Polly, I won't let you sacrifice 
yourself this way for me ■ 

Dick. No, Aunt Martha, you and mother 
have made us see that it is asking too much, so 
Polly and I are going to — part! 

Polly. [Gulps.] Yes — to part! 

Mrs. M. [In alarm,] But where are you go- 
ing, Dick? 

Dick. [Wearily.] I don't know, mother — 

180 



WHEN LOVE IS YOUNG. 

what difference does it make ? [Polly sniffs and 
goes up stage.] 

Mrs. M. [Her head on his right shoulder.] 
Oh, Dick — don't go — for your mother's sake ! 

Dick. [Firmly,] I must go, mother. 

Mrs. S. [Her head on his left shoidder.] 
Don't go, Dick, for Polly's sake ! [Polly bursts 
out laughing. All turn and look at her,] Polly, 
what does this mean? 

Mrs. M. Dick — explain! 

Dick. [Laughing.] Well, I rubbered through 
the window as we went out, and saw you two 
tackle each other at center! 

Polly. So we decided on a bluff, too 

Mrs. S. You bad, ungrateful children ! [Polly 
throzvs arms about her mother.] 

Polly. You wicked, scheming parents ! [Diek 
solemnly takes Polly's hand, leads her front, uith 
a -flourish.] 

Dick. Now, dear ladies, that this farce comedy 
of yours has drawn to a close, Polly and I would 
like your blessing. [They kneel before the 
mothers.] 

Mrs. M. Health and happiness to you, my 
blessed children ; 

Mrs. S. And may love be always young! 
curtain. 



181 



I 



LBJ879 



